


Where We're Going

by Desbelleschoses



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types, Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: Childhood Friends, Childhood Sweethearts, Cross-Posted on Tumblr, F/M, Family Dynamics, Family Issues, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Originally Posted on FanFiction.Net
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-30
Updated: 2017-09-09
Packaged: 2018-10-12 18:39:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 24
Words: 55,396
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10497159
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Desbelleschoses/pseuds/Desbelleschoses
Summary: "Roy thought nothing of it in the moment; it seemed entirely natural, instinctual." Some bonds are so strong that they exist without knowledge or effort; they simply are. Young!Royai, Rated T. Rating and genre are subject to change with the progress of this story.





	1. First Impressions

_"At the end of the day, it isn't where I came from. Maybe home is somewhere I'm going and never have been before." - Warsan Shire_

It was a dark and stormy night as the young man trudged up the hill, mud clinging to his boots and threatening to send him sliding back down the way he had come. Lightning cracked haphazardly across the sky, illuminating the raindrops that stung his face and obscured his view. The wind howled and the trees violently shook, and the only shelter was the large, dilapidated house that rose menacingly before him. Another burst of lightning illuminated the figure in the uppermost window, whose silhouette was watching him with a detached, observational eye. As he cautiously made his way to the steps, the door to the house slowly opened with a creak, sending cold shivers down his spine.

That, Roy Mustang mused to himself, was the proper setting to match the stories he had heard about Berthold Hawkeye when he first arrived in the town. The midday sun warmed his face, upturned and lost in these Gothic images. The long, dirt road sprawled around him in either direction. After he passed the general store, he hadn't seen any other sign of human life for almost two miles. At last, he could see a patchwork roof rising over the horizon, the shingles a quilt of reds, greys, blacks, and browns. Filled with newfound energy, the boy picked up his pace, his bags feeling somewhat lighter and his legs a little less tired. He rose over the top of the hill, relieved that it had become a plateau.

The house was as thrown together as the roof seemed to be. The freshly-painted porch stood in stark contrast to the peeling facade. The gardens at the front of the house were meticulously kept, whereas the far edges of the lawn were overgrown with stubborn weeds. New and old seemed to blend together in a melancholy way, the new bringing out the tiredness of the old, and the old showing the falsity of the new. This struck Roy's alchemic sensibilities, for there was no sort of balance or exchange; the house existed in haphazard stagnation.

A young girl stood behind him, watching him watch the house. Both her hands were behind her back, clutching the handle of a wagon laden down with a menagerie of food, household items, and other such products. She remained immobile, staring at his back. He was dressed in his best clothes; that much was certain. The way he kept tugging at the starched collar of his shirt and the belted waistband of his pants told her that he was uncomfortable in what he was wearing, which fit him a little too snugly to be any less than a few years old. He kept fidgeting with his slicked-back hair, which reflected the sun too brightly, exposing how much product had been put in it to keep it that way. He was taller than her, but not by much, perhaps a couple inches. The quiet observer remained completely stationary, a ghost on the outside of the moment.

They stood like this for several minutes, but the boy made no move toward or away from the house. The girl removed one hand from the handle of her wagon, sweeping her waist-length, blonde hair back behind her ear and over her shoulder, fixing what the wind had mussed. Raising her quiet voice to what she knew was a normal tone, she finally asked "May I help you, sir?"

The boy sprung so high in the air that he lost his center of gravity, bringing him crashing to the ground on his rear. He looked up at the girl with wide, black eyes, his hand clenched over his heart. His breathing was irregular, and it almost seemed as though he was going to vomit. The girl standing over him gave the faintest hint of a smile, the left corner of her mouth curling upward. In that moment, the look her honeyed eyes gave him was infuriating. His pride was deeply bruised as he imagined what his sisters would have said had they seen his reaction. "What the hell are you doing, sneaking up on people like that?!" He knew that his outburst was unwarranted, but shouting at someone else was easier than asking himself why he was so startled.

The girl, with enough wit to best an intellectual, wasted no time in replying "I should be asking you the same thing. No one stands in the road for ten minutes looking at a house that isn't their own, in such a self-absorbed manner that they don't notice anything else in their surroundings." Her small smirk disappeared as soon as it had arisen. "You're not from around here." It wasn't a question.

"Gee, what gave me away?" The boy snapped as he lifted himself off the ground. He used his hands to brush wildly at the dirt on his black pants.

The girl either did not pick up on or chose to ignore the rhetorical nature of his question. "Your clothing, your hair, your accent, your lack of knowledge of the area, your-"

"Okay, yes, I'm not from here." The boy sighed, aware that he had to injure his pride once more to find out what he needed to know. "Do you know if this is the Hawkeye residence?"

"It is," the girl stated in a matter-of-fact tone. She began to walk away from him, dragging the wagon along behind her as she approached the house. The boy was able to get a good look at her for the first time. Her hair hung down to get waist, unrestrained. Her dress was homemade, he noted as he saw the slightly uneven stitching on the hem. She was younger than he was, probably about eleven or twelve, but she was tall for her age. It seemed as though there was nothing to her; his aunt would say that a strong wind could carry her off. She left the wagon in front of the stairs and began to gather the paper bags in her arms. When she looked up, her eyes met his with a terrifyingly calm intensity. "Are you going to help me?"

For reasons unknown to him, the boy sprung into action, hurrying over to take the lion's share of the burden. Wordlessly, he followed her inside the house and placed the bags on the table, just like she did. He thought nothing of it in the moment; it seemed entirely natural, instinctual.

The girl opened the refrigerator, speaking without looking at him. "Thank you for your help, Mister..."

"Mustang. Roy Mustang." The boy extended his hand even though the girl had her back to him.

She straightened up and noticed his outstretched hand. Interlocking it with her own, she responded, "Riza Hawkeye."

"Riza. Is that short for Elizabeth?"

"Actually, it's short for Theresa, but everyone thinks it's Elizabeth. It's easier to tell everyone to call me Riza and let them assume whatever they want. I respond to all three, anyway." The young girl started, realizing how liberal she was being at the moment. "Excuse me," she murmured, knowing how deeply get father would disapprove of her behavior. Talking this way felt like second nature around this boy, and that could be very dangerous for her. She would need to keep a better watch on herself.

"Are you Berthold Hawkeye's daughter?" The boy felt it was safe to continue with his questions.

"I am." The girl stated quietly, much more distant than before. "You've come to ask to be his apprentice." Another statement.

"Yes, I have." Roy was taken aback by her sudden switch in tone.

"He's in his study," Riza informed him as she continued to put the groceries away. "He may come out for dinner, he may not. You are welcome to stay and eat regardless." After a quick glance down the hall, she determined that speaking freely once more couldn't hurt. "He rarely takes apprentices. I suggest not unpacking; he won't turn you out into the night, but he will expect you to be on the next train."

The boy gave an infuriatingly cocksure smile. "We'll see about that."

Riza bit her tongue. "Supper will be vegetable stir fry over rice. You may put your things by the front door, and please remove your shoes, Mr. Mustang. You're welcome to walk about the house while I cook."

"Let me help you with that," Roy insisted as he removed his shoes.

Riza shook her head, focused on chopping up the cabbage. "You're a guest in this house, Mr. Mustang."

"A guest that wants to help cook. I make a mean pot of rice. And call me Roy."

"Mr. Mustang, my father has rules about his house. Please don't make me ask again." Riza heard a chair scrape across the wooden floor. She looked back over her shoulder to see her guest standing on the table, replacing a light bulb in the overhead fixture. "Mr. Mustang!"

"If you don't want me to help you cook, then I won't cook. But you need more light than this, and you aren't tall enough to change the light bulb yourself." He looked down at her, his dark eyes clearly saying _just let me do this one thing to help._

Riza held back an exasperated sigh. If she didn't let him do this, it would only turn into something bigger. She settled for a "Thank you, Mr. Mustang," before turning back to the counter. He was certainly a strange one, that was for sure. Yet she couldn't help but hope that her father let this one stick around, if only for a little while. The more adventurous side of her wanted to see how he would fare. She was startled out of her thoughts by a loud crash; she dropped the knife on the counter and whipped around, pressing her back against the counter-top.

Roy lay on the ground, looking up at the light fixture. The chair he stood on was pushed underneath the table, also facing upward. He let out a groan as he picked himself up, and Riza's tense posture slackened. He supposed he would have had the same reaction. By way of an explanation, he stated "The back legs are uneven."

"Yes, they are," Riza responded, not quite sure of what else to say. Daring to ask, she ventured "Why didn't you get off the table using the same chair you used to get up?"

"Because I'm a dumbass," Roy grumbled as he rubbed his tailbone. He quirked an eyebrow at Riza's worried look, unable to understand why she would be so concerned at such a minor accident. He laughed suddenly and loudly in an attempt to alleviate the tension between them, but this only made her appear more worried. Trying to fix the situation, he added "I always end up doing stupid stuff like that. My sisters think I need to be wrapped in couch cushions sometimes."

"Or you could watch where you step." There was that wit again. Once more, Riza caught herself being too forward. She turned back to the counter and busied herself with adding the last of the ingredients to the pan. She heard a chair scrape across the floor once more, and when she turned around, she saw Roy pulling out a piece of chalk. Realizing that he was going to try to fix the chair, she spoke without stopping to think. "Actually, Mr. Mustang, could you please help me with that pot of rice?" If he helped her cook, she could keep a closer eye on him. Somehow she knew that, if left to his own devices, he would end up trying to fix something more complicated or dangerous. At worst, he might burn himself while making the rice.

She fought against the sigh of relief that arose when she saw him grin, clearly happy to be of use. "Sure," he said, making himself busy. At his aunt's, you had to earn your keep. Having someone wait on him was too much for him to bear, and the resulting discomfort left him frazzled. The children fell into a strangely comfortable silence as they worked, moving around one another as though they knew what the other was about to do. The two were so focused on moving past their previous discomfort that they didn't notice; even if they had, they were both too young to understand.


	2. Defiance

"Get out of my house."

These words shook the living room, a clap of quiet thunder which rivaled Roy's first fantastical assumptions. Although softly spoken, they carried the weight of war and disdain. All the boy could do was gape; he sought out the girl for support, but she was gone, silently as a spirit.

"Shut your damned mouth, boy, and grab your things."

Roy dared a glance out of the window; rain slipped down the window panes in the darkness. His stomach dropped as his hopes came crashing down around him. His heart was in his throat, pained at the injustice he was suffering. Only a few moments ago, he had been reading an alchemical text as Riza tended to the fire when a door swung loudly open from upstairs. The man who stalked down the stairs could have been the great Berthold Hawkeye, could he? This man's eyes surveyed the area around him as he moved, his footsteps and swaying walk akin to that of a snake. Roy made the mistake of making eye contact, and that was all he had needed to do.

Roy gulped, his hands balled into fists at his sides. He had worked so hard, scraped together as much money as he could. He had paid his own way to this empty little town only to be told that there was no place for him here. That was always the way things turned out. As hard as his aunt tried to make him feel at home, he knew he would always be the foreign, little orphan boy who didn't fit in anywhere. He stared down the alchemist, flaming onyx eyes defying icy blue. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Riza peeking out from behind a doorway, safely down the hall.

Roy breathed in, urging every cell in his body not to fail him. On his exhale, his lips turned down into a scowl as his mouth spoke of its own accord: "No."

Riza gasped in shock and retreated from the door frame, terrified of what was about to come. She sank down the wall and held her knees to her chest, trying to make herself disappear. Roy couldn't believe what he had done. He felt as though he was going to throw up, but he somehow remained on his feet. He did his best not to let his own astonishment show. The silence was making him panic, and his body decided that talking was a good outlet.

"I'm not leaving here until I've had a chance to prove myself! You can't take one look at me and tell me to go; that's crap!" Oh god, why was he still talking? Shut up! "I'm staying."

Riza bent her head down to rest on her knees, waiting for the aftermath. Roy's hands shook by his sides, his fingernails digging into the skin of his palms. Berthold looked him up and down, his face radiating disapproval. The look in his eyes was cold and calculating, as though he was trying to figure out what to do with a pesky gnat. "You'll be out by morning." The words fell like a gavel, ending the conversation. The man took his dinner plate in his hands and retreated the same way he had come, never once faltering. Roy had lost, and everyone knew it. The house fell deathly silent until a door clicked shut.

Roy reached out to steady himself against a chair, his knees quaking. He was notorious for talking a big game, and, while he could back it up most of the time, it had gotten him into very serious trouble in the past. He had been sure that there was a slap coming his way. Oh, if Aunt Chris heard him talk like that...

When he looked up, he noticed for the first time that Riza was gone. Great, now he had pissed her off, too. He heaved a sigh and shook his head. With nothing else left to do, he walked to the front door and picked up his bags. After such a show of teenage bravado, he had no choice but to follow through with what he said and suffer the consequences. As he pulled the straps into his shoulders, he suddenly realized he had no idea where he was going. He looked to his left and right, confusion clear on his face. It was then that Riza shuffled past him, slipping by on his left while he was looking to his right. "Follow me, Mr. Mustang," she said meekly. She had gathered the rest of his things for him, and her load was far heavier than his own. Roy couldn't tell if her hands were shaking from the weight of the bag or something else.

"Riza, there's no need for you to-" he began, but by then she was halfway up the stairs. Roy followed her obediently, once more trying to solve her puzzle. She was a strange girl, that was for sure. Oddly enough, he found this rather charming. He smiled at himself, knowing what his sisters would have said. They were a bunch of busybodies and insisted that he was thinking and feeling all sorts of ridiculous things almost all the time. He already missed them.

Without knowing it, he had followed Riza into a small room off the main hall. It smelled like dust and disuse, but the room itself seemed rather clean. It was tight quarters; Roy had to sidestep to get to his bed when Riza set his bags by the door. He was almost convinced that this bedroom used to be a closet.

"The bathroom is two doors down and to the right. My bedroom is the third door. Father's is at the front of the hall, two doors down in the other direction. He is hardly ever there; normally he sleeps in his study on the first floor." The words poured out of Riza's mouth like a parroted recitation. Her eyes were fixed on the floor, and her shoulders hunched slightly forward. "Breakfast is at eight."

Roy chuckled. "You sound like a hotel concierge."

Riza looked up at him in befuddlement, and Roy realized that she had probably never stayed in a hotel, let alone left this small town many times before. He was about to backtrack his awkward statement, but he stopped when he heard Riza's quiet voice.

"You stood up to him." Once more, a statement. This time, it was one of awe. All at once, her eyes called him a fool, clouded in disbelief, and shone ever so slightly with a ray of hope. Roy had done what, to Riza, was impossible. This terrified her. He had come into her home and turned everything she thought she knew onto its head. Wise for her young age, she knew she had two choices. She could run from this new reality or embrace it. She wasn't yet ready to make a decision, but the knowledge that there was a decision to be made was overwhelming. Choice was never something she had enjoyed, for it had never been given to her. Today, thanks to Roy, she learned that choice could be demanded and fought for. Her head was spinning with all of this knowledge, and Roy thought she looked a little dizzy.

"Yeah..." Roy rubbed the back of his neck with his right hand. "I do that sometimes. Aunt Chris says my mouth runs faster than my brain." He gave a nervous chuckle, not knowing what else to do. "I'm gonna pay for that one, aren't I?"

"I don't know," Riza admitted, astonished at the fact. "He's never... I mean, I... I just don't know. If I had done that..." She trailed off, and Roy knew that that was one boundary he shouldn't push just yet. "We will just have to wait and see."

The two stood there, looking at one another in silence for more moments than either cared to count. Riza broke eye contact first, glancing downward. "I'll leave you to your sleep." She turned for the the door and stopped, turning her head ever so slightly to look discreetly back at him. "I will see you in the morning." This declaration was filled with certainty, unlike those she used to answer her own questions.

Roy watched her as she left his room, smiling without knowing it. Today was one of the rare days where it seemed the universe was working for him. He just hoped that his luck would last. After all, he had to go through that same show tomorrow if he was going to even have a chance at learning from Berthold Hawkeye. He needed a good night's sleep and all the courage and pride it could bring; if Hawkeye wanted him to prove himself, then so be it.


	3. Apples and Orangees

It was not unusual for her father to remain locked away in his study throughout the night, and, as his cup of coffee sat cooling on the table next to the door, Riza knew that he would also not be taking breakfast. She always made enough for him on mornings when she rose early, but after nine o'clock, she wouldn't see him until at least supper. This meal she would leave on the small table, which, the next morning, held the dirty dishes more often than not. It was for this reason that the dinners she made were as calorie-dense as possible, whereas breakfast was just enough to wake the stomach. "Waste not, want not" were words she lived by; in a household where money was scarce, she was used to making do. The grocer would, on occasion, add some extra fruit to her bag, or the butcher would cut a slightly thicker piece of meat, but such kindnesses could not be expected or counted on when the townsfolk had more, but not much, than she and her father did.

She sat at the kitchen table, her black coffee steaming in her mug, still too hot to drink. Her small fingers worked away at the skin of an orange, one which had been placed in her bag the previous day when she wasn't looking. She placed the peel to the side, saving it to either cook with or compost; she wasn't sure yet. If she could get ahold of some sugar or chocolate, she could candy it. It had been ages since she had eaten candied orange peels. Absentmindedly, she licked the juice off her fingertips before peeling the fruit apart over a plate, catching anything that fell. She should walk to Mr. Sommerley's orchard and see if he had any less-than-perfect fruit he would be willing to sell her for a few cens.

Lost in thought, she failed to notice Roy entering the kitchen. In fact, she had forgotten that he was in the house at all. Yesterday's events could have been a dream, for how bizarre they were. Yet she was pulled back to reality when the boy walked into her line of sight, opening and closing every cabinet he could reach. His black hair was matted in the back, and he was speaking to himself in a voice still gravelly with sleep. She could have sworn she heard him say "cup," but the rest of the statement was lost in translation. Setting down her breakfast, she rose from her chair and walked past him, reaching for a cupboard he had already opened. In only a few seconds, she had poured a mug of coffee for him and placed the sugar on the kitchen table. She took the mug and pressed it into Roy's hand, curling his fingers over the handle, before leading him to a chair. Now that she thought about it, she wasn't sure if he was sleepwalking.

The two sat in silence as Roy drank his cup of coffee, downing it as though it were his lifeblood. Riza watched him as she continued to eat her orange, chewing slowly so that she could enjoy the taste. The serenity was interrupted by the scraping of a chair against the floor as Roy went to refill his cup, and then once more as he sat back down. Halfway through his second helping, his eyes began to clear and the crease between his eyebrows softened.

He was a strange one, Riza decided. She found him funny, although telling him so would probably bruise his ego. Before she could offer him anything to eat, he had reached for the basket in the middle of the table and chose himself an apple, one of the green ones she didn't care for.

"What time is your train?" She asked, speaking for the first time that morning.

"Hnn?" Roy made a noise at her and raised his eyebrow, having taken a large mouthful just a moment before.

"Your train. I planned on helping you down to the station with your things." Although this was expected of her by her father's standards, a part of her wanted to do so of her own accord.

Roy swallowed before giving a shrug, looking at his breakfast. "Dunno. Not getting on one, if I have any say in it."

Riza looked at him incredulously as he took another bite, unable to believe what he just said. Unable to figure it out for herself, she finally asked "What do you mean?"

"I'm not going. Your dad thinks he can scare me, but he's wrong. I'm gonna stick around until he drags me onto that train kicking and screaming. If I don't leave, he has to say something to me eventually. I plan on proving myself in the meantime."

Riza just stared at him, waiting for him to laugh or for some other sign that he was joking. When none came, she picked her orange peel off the table and began to tear it into thin strips. She wanted to tell him what a poor idea that was, that he was being a fool, that he had no idea what he was doing or what the repercussions would be. She desperately wanted to, but the words stopped themselves in the back of her throat.

"So, what can I do around here?" Roy asked, not noticing the pause. "What needs to be done that you can't do?"

* * *

Roy had no idea that the east could be so hot. He pulled up the bottom of his shirt to wipe his brow clean of sweat, keeping it from dripping into his eyes. After brushing his hair back out of his face, he lifted the hammer once more and continued to drive nails into the roof. Riza had asked him to patch a hole above the attic, which was gathering too much water when it stormed. She couldn't do it herself because she couldn't get the shingles out onto the roof at her height, but the ceiling of the second floor was starting to brown where the water seeped through. He didn't mind the manual labor, and fixing something in such a state of disrepair made him feel useful.

From his vantage point, he could see Riza flutter about the yard. She wanted to take advantage of the nice weather and take care of her overdue chores, which she had to postpone due to a solid week of rain. He watched her dig in the dirt with her hands, pulling up weeds from a vegetable garden. She hiked her dress up and tied it around her thighs as she set to work mending the fence, not shying away from using tools and doing more demanding work. She would disappear for moments at a time around the back of the house, returning with different materials each time she changed tasks. At the moment, she was raking the leaves out of the yard. There wasn't much grass to speak of beneath them, but the little bit that there was would benefit from the sunlight. At this thought, Roy looked up at the sky, trying to judge the time by the sun. When he looked back down, Riza was gone once more. He put his mind back on task and continued to hammer the shingles over the hole in the roof.

"Mr. Mustang?"

Roy felt his heart falter as he lost his balance, but his wrist was being pulled before he could fall. He steadied himself once more and followed the hands wrapped around his, finally reaching a wide-eyed Riza.

"Mr. Mustang! I am so sorry; I didn't mean to startle you." She was deeply apologetic. "I just wanted to ask if you wanted to come with me to Mr. Sommerley's."

"Who?" Roy asked as his pace of breathing returned to normal.

"One of the farmers in town. I was hoping to see if he had any oranges that he couldn't sell in the store, and I thought you might want to stretch your legs. I'm sorry if I-"

"No, no, no." As he shook his head, his hair fell back in his face. "I'll go with you. It's no trouble at all. Anything to get me off this roof." He grinned at his own statement. He placed the hammer and nails back into the bag and climbed through the attic window, joining Riza on the other side. "Shall we?" There was his grin again, and he offered her his arm in a playful gesture. While Riza found it charming, she also found it mildly irritating. His cockiness would get him into trouble one day.

As the pair walked down to the first floor, both sets of eyes watched the door to Berthold Hawkeye's study. It was a waiting game until he realized that Roy had never left, and Riza couldn't predict his reaction. She had learned to be five steps ahead of her father at all times; being unable to was making her nervous. She tried to brush the thought aside as she walked out the front door, but it hung in the back of her mind despite her best efforts. She shut the door swiftly behind them, eager to push that inevitability further into the future. "Come on," she urged, trying her best to look carefree as she took the lead, starting down the hill.

Roy started at a slight jog to catch up to her, but he soon found that, with his long legs, he had to walk slowly so he didn't overtake her. For half a mile, not a word was spoken. The two kept pace with ease, and they walked with only about a foot between them. It wasn't until Roy spoke that they realized how far they had already gone.

"Wanna play five questions?" he asked, glancing over at his companion.

"I don't know what that is."

"It's easy. You ask me five questions, and I have to tell the truth. Then it's your turn."

"What if I lie?"

"... you're not supposed to, ok?"

Riza's mouth turned up at the corners, amused at his response. "Alright. Let's see. Where were you born? Do you have any siblings? What do you want to be when you grow up? What's your favorite food? And if you could go to one place, where would it be?"

"You're not supposed to ask them all at once," Roy sighed. Before Riza could apologize, he began to answer, ticking each point off on his fingers. "I was born in Xing, when my parents were on vacation. No biological siblings, but I have a ton of sisters at Aunt Chris'. I want to be an alchemist, my favorite food is breakfast food, and I want to go to Xerxes."

Out of all of his responses, Riza asked, "You know breakfast food isn't a food, right?"

"You never said it had to be a specific food." Roy shrugged. "Alright, now you."

"What about me?"

"What are your answers?"

"You can't use my questions, that's cheating."

"Never said it was, so it can't be." Roy laughed, dodging out of the way as she swung her basket at him.

"Fine," she huffed. "I was born here and have no brothers or sisters. I want to move to Central and become a teacher. My favorite food is _oranges_ ," she emphasized the singular type of fruit to continue making her point about the inadequacy of his answer. "And I would like to see Xing."

They continued to question one another as they walked, learning more about one another in that short time than they knew about anyone else. Riza learned that Roy was an orphan, and Roy found out that her mom had died a couple years back. Riza was teaching herself Cretan, and Roy knew some Xingese, mostly in the form of curses. Roy knew that he was third-generation Xingese on his father's side, whereas Riza had no idea where she came from. They both preferred summer to winter, nights to mornings, and chocolate to vanilla. Before either of them could realize where the day had gone, they were back at the house with a basket full of oranges and apples - the green kind.

Riza hesitated to open the door, unsure of whether or not her father had left his study that day. Her hand hovered midway as every possibility passed through her mind. To her surprise, an arm stretched over her own and opened the door for her with confidence. Roy grinned at her before walking inside and slipping off his coat. His grin said _I'll handle whatever comes our way_. Riza had never climbed down from a state of panic so quickly. She found herself trusting in him completely, and, although she was terrified of the hurt it was sure to bring, she let herself take solace in it for that one, brief moment.

"Lend me a hand with tonight's dinner?" she asked as she set the basket down on the kitchen table. "There's a lot to prepare, and we're later getting back than I thought we would be."

"Sure. What are we having?"

"Whatever we can think to throw together."


	4. Honest Silence

The days passed in relative simplicity as the two children struck up a pattern. Riza woke first and made breakfast; she waited for Roy, who would then clean the dishes. Afterwards, he would set to repairing something on the never-ending list of broken household items. He would inevitably make a mess, which Riza cleaned as she tidied the house, without him knowing that she was even there. At midday they sat down for a light lunch before getting back to their chores.

Roy had been trying to get Riza out of the house in the afternoons, but she seemed reluctant to leave if it wasn't necessary. The fence around her yard was a cage, in Roy's opinion. He wasn't sure why things were the way that were in the Hawkeye household, but he had more manners than to come out and ask. Each day, he asked her if she wanted to join him on some excursion; each day, she declined.

Once the sun began to go down, the two would work together to prepare dinner, during which Roy would talk and Riza would nod. The dishes were washed, and they both retired to the salon. Roy would take his place on the couch, stretched out with some sort of alchemical tome he had plucked from the shelf. Riza curled up in her chair, a worn book in her hands which Roy never recognized. This is also how they would spend their rainy days, Roy with a cup of coffee and Riza with a tea.

On one such night, Riza returned to the kitchen, an untouched plate in her hands. Her brow was knit in worry as she scraped the contents into a plastic container. "He hasn't eaten dinner in three days," she murmured.

"He'll be fine. He's had his breakfast, hasn't he?" Roy watch Riza give a slight nod, her eyes keeping away from his face. "Then he has at least something in him. Don't worry about it; you can't make him eat, after all."

Riza let out a sigh as she dropped the plate into the soapy water. She said no more on the subject, and the two cleaned in silence. Both children remained mute as they walked to their usual places, picked up their books, and made themselves comfortable.

After several minutes, Roy looked up and over at Riza's chair. He hadn't heard her turn the page once, and her eyes moved as though they kept reading the same line over and over again. Perhaps she had a right to be worried. Even he was concerned, because he had overstayed his welcome by five days without seeing Berthold again. He, however, could stand the uncertainty. Riza was a worrier; he learned this by bits and pieces, but all the signs were there. Over the last five days she had opened up to him in a way he didn't think was possible. Just yesterday, he heard her laugh for the first time. It wasn't a sarcastic laugh or a slight chuckle; she had laughed until tears came to her eyes. Of course, it came at his expense when he tumbled into the mud and slid down a hill, all the while clutching at the earth as he tried to stop himself. She made him clean off with the hose before coming inside, but even being dripping wet was worth it to him. He liked seeing her come to life in those moments.

She was so serious all the time; he supposed she had to be to keep the house in order on her own. But she had more than a no-nonsense attitude when it came to work. It was as though she was holding herself back at all times, keeping herself in a stranglehold. Every time she cracked in her exterior, she caught herself and apologized, just as she did when she laughed at him.

Roy turned back to his book, realizing that he had been looking at her for too long. He sat up and placed the book on the coffee table in front of him, holding the pages down with paperweights. He leaned forward and placed his elbows on his knees, his intertwined figures covering his mouth as he tried to puzzle through a complicated alchemical formula.

A sudden crash broke the serenity of the room, followed by a roar: " _Goddamnit_!"

Roy jumped, startled by what just happened. He leaned back into the couch and peered down the hallway, his eyes fixed on Berthold's study. He could hear more shouting, but it was unintelligible.

Riza had virtually jumped out of her skin at the interruption. Her book landed haphazardly on the floor, pages bent under its weight. She had abandoned her place in her chair, and it took Roy a minute to find her again. She had her back pressed against the wall, hiding where the chair concealed a small amount of space in the corner of the room. Her head was resting on her knees, and her arms were thrown over her head. The only sign of her presence was the hem of her dress, visible underneath the chair. Roy stood with the intention of checking on her, but the door to the study flew open with a bang before he could take a step.

Berthold stalked out of his study, growling under his breath about something or another. He moved down the hall into the kitchen, passing Roy without any acknowledgement of his presence. In search of food, he opened the refrigerator and took the plastic container Riza had placed there hours before. He neglected to warm his meal and grabbed the closest silver he could find. As the man turned around, he found Roy staring at him. Moments of tense silence passed between them, and Roy saw his short life flashing before his eyes.

Frozen in place, Roy stood immobile as Berthold made his way back into his study. A large, hardbacked tome flew down the hallway, narrowly missing Roy's head. "Learn it!" was his solitary command, punctuated by the slamming of the study door.

Roy was completely dumbfounded by what had just happened. Did this mean he was going to be Berthold's apprentice? Why wasn't he punished for not leaving the house? His mind was spinning, but he was torn from these thoughts when he heard Riza's long, drawn-out exhale. It was as though she had been holding her breath. Roy walked over to the chair and peered around the back, frowning when he saw how Riza had positioned herself. He reached out and placed a hand on her shoulder, and he did not get the reaction he had expected.

Riza twisted away from his hand, the force of her movement causing the chair to slide over the carpet. The way she looked up at him left him speechless. Her amber eyes were wide, fear shining in them as if she were a small animal. She was shaking almost imperceptibly, and her right hand searched the floor around her as she kept her eyes on Roy. A second passed, and her hand stopped moving over the carpet. Another second, and her head hung down against her chest. Three deep breaths, then she opened her eyes. Her head lifted, and she saw Roy standing in front of her, clearly concerned. Her cheeks tinged red in embarrassment, and she tried her best to hide what had just happened. She grabbed the windowsill with one hand and placed the other on the wall, using both to help herself stand. Her knees were quaking, but she ignored it as best she could. After steadying herself, she looked down at her toes and attempted to shuffle past Roy, barely speaking. "Excuse me, Mr. Mustang."

Without stopping to think about what he was doing, Roy reached out and grabbed her wrist. He pulled her close to him and wrapped her in a hug, trying to help in the only way he knew how. Whenever he was upset, a hug from his aunt or one of his sisters always seemed to help. Riza fought against him, placing her hands on his chest and trying to push him away. She tried to work her way free, but it was no use. She hated physical contact; her personal space was incredibly important to her, and it was being seriously violated. Completely overwhelmed with fear of her father and indignant at Roy, she beat against his chest with her small fists, yet he still did not let her go. Her knees went weak and she sunk down to the floor, and Roy followed her. Her head came to rest on his shoulder, and his shirt began to feel wet. She had stopped struggling, and not a sound was made between them until the clock chimed the hour, alerting them to how much time had passed. Riza lifted her head wearily and wiped her eyes with the palms of her hands. "Please forgive me, Mr. Mustang," she asked, her voice quiet and heavy. "I don't know what got into me. I'm sorry."

Having yet to let go of her, Roy assured her "You have nothing to apologize for. You did nothing wrong."

Riza shook her head by way of arguing. "I overreacted, and I shouldn't have done that. I made a scene and a complete fool out of myself. I have everything to be sorry for."

"Stop it." Roy's voice came out a little more harshly than he intended. "You got scared. Everyone does sometimes. It's okay."

With a sigh, Riza decided that it wasn't worth the argument. "I would like to go to bed now, Mr. Mustang. Please let go of me."

"Not before you sit and have a cup of tea. If you go to sleep now, you'll only have nightmares." Roy was speaking from experience. If he was upset about something, especially his parents, it would haunt his dreams unless he could distract himself. He let her go and stood up, picking her book up off the floor before extending his hand to her. She took it and let him help her up. His hand was replaced by her book, and she found herself being led to the couch. "Sit."

"Mr. Mustang, I can-"

"Sit. I'm making the tea. And for the love of what is good in this world, stop calling me that. I'm not an old man."

Too tired to retort, Riza settled herself on the couch, pulling the throw off the back and wrapping herself in it. It seemed it was only seconds before the kettle was whistling, and Roy was beside her with a mug. He took her free hand and pressed the tea into it, forcing her to hold the cup. He sat himself down on the other side of the couch, his mug in his hands and the large tome open in his lap. He thanked his luck that he had avoided being hit with it; it could have done some serious damage. He frowned, having to read the first sentence four times to completely understand it. This book would certainly be a challenge.

Riza watched him for a few moments before relenting, opening her own book to where she had left off. The only sound in the room was the ticking of the clock, the rustling of pages, and the clink of ceramic against wood. By the time the clock chimed the next hour, both books lay abandoned on the coffee table, their owners fast asleep without realizing they had begun to drift off into a dreamless rest.


	5. Childish Pride

As autumn began to settle over the quiet town, leaves blanketed the Hawkeye property, thanks to several large oak trees which towered over the house. With the season came a special treat. Riza had pinched their budget for weeks until the usual trader came through with his wares from the surrounding nations. She eagerly drug Roy out of the house alongside her, but she refused to tell him why. When she saw the familiar cart, she picked up her pace, waving her hand and calling something in Cretan. The exchange of words was so fast that Roy doubted he would have understand even if he spoke the language. Riza laughed at something that had been said, but the tone soon turned serious. Without knowing what was being said, Roy could tell that the two were haggling over some of the small bags in the cart. Several times, Riza turned to leave, only to come back at a price she wanted. After all was said and done, Roy had an armful of sachets and Riza placed some coins into the trader's palm. Despite the intensity of their bartering, the two parted with lighthearted calls and a wave.

"What just happened?" Roy asked as he tried to keep a hold on his burden. He was thankful when Riza reached over and took several from him, holding them by their strings. He adjusted his own grip on the bags and did the same.

"That's Mr. Pierre. He comes through here once a year on his way back from Xing. He trades in all kinds of things, but when he comes back into Amestris, he usually has all kinds of spices from Xing, and sometimes even from Aerugo or Creta if he hasn't sold them yet. Most of the spices get delivered to general stores, but I always try to catch him before he gets that far. If I can get him on his own, I can buy what he has for the base price without having to pay extra at the store."

"I'm guessing he's from Creta?"

"He immigrated here a little over a decade ago, he said. Don't ask him why if you don't want to hear the entire story of how he met and married his wife." Riza cracked a smile, and Roy assumed it was a tale she heard often.

"So what'd ya get?"

"I lucked out this time. I was able to get cinnamon, licorice, ginger, nutmeg, turmeric, and a whole bunch of other stuff. He gave me a really steep discount, something about you being with me."

"So he knew you had an extra mouth to feed."

"No, something about winning a man through his stomach." Riza shook her head, strangely unashamed. "He's always saying stuff like that to me. He keeps telling me about his son who is around my age."

"Oh?" Roy tried to hide his frown by smelling one of the sachets. He held it away from his face and sneezed several times.

"That's peppercorn," Riza pointed out. "Yeah, he keeps swearing to bring him along the next time he comes around. I just tell him that he should, because it would be even easier to haggle down his prices."

As she laughed, Roy forced himself to chuckle. At least she didn't seem to have any interest. His thoughts slammed into a halt as he demanded why that was even important to him. Not wanting to explore that question, he placed it in a box at the back of his mind. He didn't want to touch that one for a long time.

Riza continued, oblivious to Roy's inner turmoil. "Mr. Pierre suggested that I cut my hair," she mused, almost to herself. "He gave me some oil for my hair, to keep it from being so messy, and he said that it works best on shorter hair. It'd last longer, too."

Roy gave her a questioning glance. "Are you gonna do it?"

"I'm not sure... I don't want to be mistaken for a boy."

"You don't have to worry about that," Roy declared absentmindedly. Catching himself, he quickly added, "You know, the shape of your face and all. That and your bangs."

"You have bangs."

"They're not bangs, it's a fringe!"

"Which is a synonym for bangs."

"Whatever, you know what I meant."

"Maybe you're right," Riza mused as she opened the door to the house. She began to pull out several small, glass jars, and proceeded to empty the bags into them. "I'll think about it."

Roy grabbed a jar and began to pour out the contents of a larger bag. Out came tumbling a fine, vibrantly green powder. "The hell is this?"

"Matcha. You know, for an alchemist, you don't know a whole lot."

"I know that nothing is supposed to be this color."

"You're being smart with me today."

"Really? Because you just called me dumb." Roy grinned in his infuriating manner, ducking in anticipation of what Riza would throw at him. Strangely, this time, nothing came flying toward him.

"Are you going to be useful or are you going to annoy me?"

"Both," he complied as he continued to fill the jars with spices.

Dinner was prepared with more flavors than Roy had tasted in his entire life, let alone in one dish. He didn't even miss the fact that there was no meat in that night's meal. Riza watched him in amazement as he tore through his third helping. She had been worried about how much she had made after she served herself and placed her father's plate by his study, but leftovers wouldn't be any trouble at all, it seemed. Long since finished with her dinner, she had taken the time to clean up and do the dishes, and Roy still wasn't done eating. She sat down in her chair, asking concernedly "Are you alright?"

"Mmm," came her response, both an affirmation and remark on the food.

"You're going to give yourself a stomachache if you keep eating."

Roy shook his head. "I think I know what I can handle."

* * *

Roy groaned, both his hands placed on his distended stomach. He felt like he was going to be sick, but he had no regrets. That is, until Riza approached him with a cup of tea. He groaned again, trying to roll himself into the back of the couch. Riza placed a hand on his shoulder and righted him. "Mr. Mustang, you need to drink this. Ginger is going to help your stomach." Roy blinked up at her before rolling himself back over and away from her.

"This wouldn't have happened if you ate a normal serving and let yourself enjoy the leftovers."

"I don't care," came his response. He was trying to be defiant, but he sounded more pitiful than self-assured.

"If you don't care, drink this tea. I'm sure you can stomach a cup of hot water." Riza heard him gag. She was getting annoyed. He had been moaning and groaning for the past half hour, but he kept refusing to do anything to make himself feel better. At this point, he was wallowing in self-pity. She had been patient with him, she had done what she could for him, and finally she couldn't take it any longer. "Dammit, Roy! I'm not your nurse, now drink the tea!"

Riza's shock at her own outburst was reflected in Roy's face. Both sets of eyes were wide in disbelief, mouths agape. Riza quickly clapped her free hand over her mouth, her face reddening in embarrassment. Roy burst out laughing, and the tension in his abdomen caused his stomach to fight back in earnest. He was curled in on himself, alternating between laughing and winces of pain, unable to stop either. Riza set the cup of tea down with a loud clank and stood up in a fuss. "Fine. If you're going to mock my attempts to help, you don't deserve them." She turned on her heel and walked up the stairs, actually angry with him for the first time.

"Riza!" Roy called, but the effort on his diaphragm did nothing to help his stomach. He rolled over and picked up the mug, giving its contents a cautious sniff. He trusted her, and if she said this would help, so be it. He grimaced and tried to drink the tea as quickly as possible. A coughing fit racked his body when the tea went down the wrong way, and he fell back into the couch in defeat. This was it. This was how he was going to die. And at such a young age, too...

He knew that the longer he let her think he was mocking her, the angrier she would be. That lesson was learned quickly in a house full of women. Riza may have been nothing like his sisters in her personality, but she had her pride. It was a dignified, restrained pride, but pride nonetheless. After taking as deep a breath as he could in his state, he put on a brave face and began to drink the rest of his tea. Unfortunately, it didn't have the immediate effect he was hoping for.

Minutes seemed like hours as he lay on the couch, unable to move due to his stomachache. He rose a few times only to have the need to sit back down. Finally, he was able to remain standing. Not daring to rush, he made his way up the stairs. "Riza?" He called without raising his voice. The bathroom light was shining out into the hall; Roy turned his apology over in his mind as he approached the door. "Riza, I-"

He broke off as Riza turned to look at him, a pair of scissors in her hands. The vast majority of her hair was on the floor around her feet. The hair she had left was shorter than his own and messily done at best. He took the scissors from her and stepped behind her, placing a hand on her head to tilt it slightly downward. "I didn't mean to laugh. The face you made was funny; that's what I was laughing at. Not you." Her hair was so short at the back of her neck that he had to even out the neckline, which was severely angled. "The tea helped." At this admission, he stepped to the side and looked at her in the mirror. "I don't know what I said to make you want to do this, but I'm sorry for whatever it was."

"This isn't about you," Riza bluntly informed him.

"Then what _is_ it about?"

"I don't know. I just saw myself in the mirror and decided that it had to go. I looked like a five-year-old with my hair. I saw it and realized that I hate it." She frowned, tilting her head in whichever way Roy moved it. "I wanted it to be different. It's been that way my whole life, and I was sick of it."

Roy trimmed her short hair around her ears, doing the best he could to fix the damage she had caused. Without any weight, the blonde strands stuck out for the most part. To the touch, it was almost stiff. It would grow out a bit with time, and hopefully it could be better cut at that point. He brushed the hair off of her shoulders, looking at her in the mirror once more. "You kept your bangs."

"It's a fringe." Riza smiled at him mockingly. With that cheeky remark, Roy knew that he was forgiven. She only said things like that if she was in a good humor and feeling open with him. After three months, he would be remiss if he hadn't picked up on that detail.

"Whatever you have to say to yourself." Roy stuck his hands in his pockets and strode out of the bathroom, heading to his closet of a room. He took a few steps back until he was once again looking at Riza. She quirked an eyebrow at him as he studied her. After a few moments, he nodded. "I like it short." With that, he walked off, leaving her to clean the mess she had made.

* * *

Riza's fingers brushed across the back of her head, feeling the small pinpricks against her skin. At first, she thought she just needed a couple of days to get used to it. Then, she wondered if she was self-conscious. But sitting outside underneath the oldest oak tree in the yard, she finally came to the answer. She wasn't excited or sad about the change, because nothing had changed at all. When she was hacking away with the scissors, she thought of her mother's long, dark hair that shone like glass. She thought of her father's dirty yellow, the mats and and tangles. She had vainly hoped that her passionate act would push away ghosts both dead and living. But nothing had changed. She still had her mother's eyes and her father's coloring; her mother's mouth drawn into the stern line of her father's. There they were, constantly looking back at her in mirrors and windows.

She was still a slave in her home; she still hid herself at loud noises and shied away from confrontation. As hard as she tried, the thoughts that could have liberated her were shoved down time and time again by her father's shouts and her mother's doting. Be quiet, be good, be invisible. These were the lessons she learned as soon as she knew how to speak. That was how she survived. Girls need to look pretty if they want to get a husband who will take care of them. It's not ladylike to speak out of turn. If you can cook and clean, you don't need to bother with anything else. She wanted to scream, to fight back in any way she could against these voices, but she was afraid. Terror had situated itself at the forefront of her mind and never moved out.

No, nothing had changed at all.

She exhaled and placed her hand back on the cloth in her lap. She folded the seam in on itself, decreasing it in size. It was very kind of Mrs. Peterson to give her some of her children's hand-me-downs, and, while she would normally refuse anything from Jack, she decided that some pants couldn't hurt. Mrs. Peterson talked about how they were good work pants, but Riza intended to break custom by wearing them instead of a skirt or dress. She had plans to alter Jasmine's dresses into blouses, as well. Yet the sewing was tedious work, and she always managed to stick her fingers with the needle. She hissed through her teeth as she pricked herself, wiping the drop of blood into the grass beneath her.

"You know, you really should use antiseptic after doing that."

Riza's head flew back and up, her ears telling her exactly who said it and where he was. Roy sat on one of the thick branches, his feet dangling in the air. He grinned when he saw her face. "Scared ya, didn't I?"

"There's a special name for boys who like to spy on young girls while hiding in trees, I'll have you know," Riza retorted, only a little angry with him. "How long have you been up there?"

"Longer than I would have liked. I got a running start off the roof and jumped, but when I hit the tree, my shirt snagged on a branch." He gestured to his white tee shirt, which was ripped halfway down and across his stomach. "I'm not proud of it, so I was going to wait until you left, but you were taking way too long."

"Roy Mustang!" Riza exclaimed, jumping to get feet. "What a stupid thing to do! You know, you're going to die by natural selection someday with a stunt like that."

He responded with a lazy shrug. "If it happens, it happens." With that, he began to swing himself between branches, making his way toward the ground. His feet made contact with the earth not far from his companion, and even he was surprised when he stuck his landing. Riza gave him a pointed look, one he had become well accustomed to. By way of defending himself, he added "What's the point of life if you're careful all the time? You have to do stupid and dangerous things sometimes; that's what makes it worth it."

"Your existential philosophy is worrisome."

"I'm an alchemist, not some grand philosopher. I look at the small picture instead of the big one."

Knowing that, as usual, arguing would get her nowhere, Riza relented. She jumped, startled when she felt Roy's hand on her head. He was looking at her inquisitively, and her eyes moved down and to the side, uncomfortable. He ruffled her hair, and Riza jerked away from him with an angry look. "I like it short," he reminded her, not knowing why he felt the need to say it.

"You've messed it up," Riza complained, raking her fingers through her hair. Her bangs had fallen out of place, and it was difficult to get them into position again.

"I don't know why you sweep your hair behind your ear," Roy wondered aloud as he sat in the grass, leaning back against the tree. "It's cute when it hangs over your face like that." Instantaneously realizing what he had just said, he gave an awkward cough and turned his head away from her. What the hell? She was a kid! Then again, so was he, but he knew Aunt Chris would box his ears for saying that so bluntly to a girl younger than him. _You've got your whole life to chase after women, Roy-boy. Don't start it at your age._

Several moments of silence passed between them before Riza sat down once more, keeping a slight distance between herself and Roy. He still wasn't looking at her. "Thank you," she said softly, her voice honest.

"For what?" Roy asked, not sure how making a fool of himself was something to be appreciated.

"I thought I would be happier with the change than I am. It didn't do what I thought it would. I don't feel different, I haven't done anything different; everything is the same. I was really starting to regret having cut it. But knowing that I have a friend who likes it is enough for now."

"Friend?"

"We are friends, aren't we?" Riza asked, trying to keep the hurt out of her voice.

Roy slung an arm across her shoulders and pulled her toward him, holding her to him with his arm. His other hand began to mess her hair again. "Damn right we are."

"Mr. Mustang, stop it! That's not funny!"

"Who? I don't know who that is." Roy taunted, laughing as he did so.

"Roy!"


	6. Postponed Preparations

The sun had just begun to rise, adding warmth to the late-autumn chill of the morning. Riza drew her robe closer around her shoulders and raised her ceramic mug to her lips. Careful of the steaming tea, she took small sips so that she didn't burn herself accidentally. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath in, slowly releasing it. Mornings like this were the closest she came to peace. Without thinking of anything in particular, this was how she came to a state of meditation, even if she wasn't aware of it herself. The world made itself intimately known; the bird songs, in particular, stirred her heart. Without seeing, she could tell where the wind brushed against the treetops, where a rabbit raced across the dirt road, where the foundation of the house creaked. Her hearing was incomprehensibly sharp, something that had been remarked often when she was younger. Her eyes were the same way, but others were much less likely to tell if she saw something; her eyes were often elsewhere than the person who was speaking to her, and it was often misunderstood as shyness. She had given herself away with her hearing when she spoke to someone who was not addressing her or who said something that she was not supposed to hear. Ever since, she kept quiet and discreet about what she was able to pick up on.

Her eyes opened when she heard an unusual sound for that time of the morning. It was by no means a quiet noise. Footsteps landed rapidly and with force from the second floor of the house, picking up pace as they descended down to the ground floor. Again, she could hear them darting around the house, and she sat upright when she heard them approach the front door. Roy burst out of the house, completely ignorant of her presence. His sleeping pants were on backwards, and he was both shoeless and shirtless. His hair was a tangle of black, declaring that he slept on his right side. His head moved as he looked around the front yard, his eyes moving as quickly as his feet had. He started to hurry off the porch, intending to run into the yard barefoot. Before he had a chance, Riza asked from behind him, "Shouldn't you be wearing shoes before you do that?"

Roy whipped around, narrowly missing one of the support beams. "Riza!" He exclaimed, far more loudly than was necessary. "I... We... This..." he panted, holding an opened envelope out to her. He waved it up and down to indicate that she was to take it. Riza reached inside and pulled out a folded piece of paper. She looked up at Roy before opening it, making sure that she had permission to read the contents.

_Roy-boy,_

_How much effort does it take to write a letter? The girls are losing their heads without hearing from you. Jessica has convinced herself that you lost your way and have been sold into slavery in Drachma. There's no talking sense into that girl, either. You should know better._

_The only way to quit their elaborate melodrama is, I think, for you to visit home. Apparently, suggesting that they give you a call is too much for them to bear. I bought your ticket in advance, and I got one for your little girlfriend, too. Hopefully I can kill two birds with one stone here and get them focused back on work._

_So help me, child, if you miss this train and waste my money, you'll be working it off during your winter holiday. Go ask your teacher or whatever else you have to do, and get your rear in that seat. And this time, actually pack for a week's stay. If you bring one outfit like you did when we went to the South, you'll be doing your own laundry every day._

_Get to it,_

_Aunt Chris_

Riza held the tickets in her right hand and the letter in her left. She looked at the date at the top of the letter, and then in the corner of the envelope. "Roy! This was postmarked two weeks ago!" In her surprise, she had forgotten her propriety.

"I know!" Roy groaned, clutching the sides of his head dramatically and swaying slightly. "Look at the tickets."

Printed in the right hand corner of the ticket was the date 26 November. Below it, in bold, was the time 1300h. Slowly and with purpose, Riza moved her eyes up to look at Roy. He faltered under her cold gaze, crying "I know!" before dropping into a seat on the wood.

Without any fuss, Riza rose to her feet, tying her robe around her waist. She folded the letter and placed it back in the envelope with the tickets, holding it in the same had she was using to grab her tea. Wordlessly, she walked into the house, leaving the door open behind her. When she saw that Roy wasn't following her, she looked back over her shoulder. "Well? Didn't your aunt say to 'get to it'? We both have packing to do, and you're going to be the one who tells father where we're going. You can't do anything if you keep sitting there, you know."

Amazed that she was actually going along with the last-minute chaos, Roy lifted himself obediently to his feet and followed her into the house. By that point, Riza was already up the stairs. He frowned as he looked at the door to Berthold's study. If he had opened the letter when it arrived, he wouldn't have this problem. After he had gathered all of the courage in his body, he managed to walk to the door and raise his hand, knocking softly. When no response came, he repeated the process with a little more force.

"What?!" the voice behind the door barked.

Roy slowly pushed the door open, hiding himself behind it. He had learned not to enter the study or leave himself without a form of defense. Berthold had a fondness for throwing books he was frustrated with. "Master Hawkeye, sir? Well, you see, I got a letter and I didn't read it on time and now my aunt is going to be pissed at me and Riza is involved and-"

"What about my daughter?" Berthold looked up from his desk and stared Roy down, his blue eyes empty and cold.

"My aunt bought us train tickets to come visit her."

Annoyed at being interrupted for such a trivial reason, Berthold waved his hand dismissively. "Do what you want, boy." He turned back to his notes and began writing hurriedly. His voice remained flat as he added, "If anything happens to my daughter, it'll be your head."

Roy got the feeling that this was a multi-leveled threat to him. He gulped and managed a hurried "Yessir" before closing the door again. It wasn't until he was clear of the hallway that he heaved a sigh of relief. That went much better than he would have thought. With newfound courage, he rushed up the stairs and threw open the door to his bedroom. In a mad dash, he pulled out his smaller suitcase and began to throw clothes on the bed with abandon. Suddenly realizing that he needed his toiletries, he veered down the hall and into the bathroom.

Riza, who was in the middle of brushing her teeth, stood perfectly still as Roy darted around her like a hurricane. As soon as he arrived, he was gone, but not without a trace. Her eyes moved around the small, once pristine room, taking in every open drawer and cabinet along with their strewn contents. She looked back at her reflection and sighed, deciding to finish the task at hand before doing anything else. As she was done using them, she placed her things into her travel bag one by one, making sure she had everything. She zipped the small, plastic bag closed and dropped it off in her room before walking down the hall to Roy's. It was as if the hurricane in the bathroom spawned a tornado.

She walked calmly into the room, sidestepping Roy every time he moved past her. Without asking permission, she picked up a shirt from the bed and began to fold it. Roy, who was trying to hold the suitcase shut, stopped long enough to notice. "What are you doing?"

"Just because you like to leave things till the last second doesn't mean that they can't be done right." Riza placed a folded pair of pants on top of the shirt. "You're only making things worse when you panic. Taking five minutes to do something properly is better than finishing it in three with ten minutes' worth of cleanup." Another shirt joined the pile. "Now take everything out of your suitcase and fold it properly. You aren't packing your entire wardrobe."

Roy hesitated. He had been yelled at by Master Hawkeye, growled at by his Aunt Chris, but this was an entirely new form of scolding. It was clever, hidden underneath the words. The very fact that he knew it was there made him uncomfortable, as if the disapproval were more intimate, piercing on a different level. For perhaps the first time in his life, he didn't argue. The two worked in silence until Roy had a full suitcase and the rest of the wardrobe was put away. He was able to zip his suitcase with ease. Feeling foolish, he coughed once before saying, "Thanks. You didn't have to do that."

"You're right." Riza's reply seemed harsh, but the look in her eyes was not. "Now, go clean up the rest of the chaos you made. I still have to pack my own things." She hesitated in the doorway. "Oh, and don't forget to get your toiletries back out. I won't be sitting with you unless you brush your teeth."

* * *

Roy took it upon himself to carry both their suitcases to the station. Riza didn't like the idea, and the two argued for several minutes about the capabilities of the female sex before she relented. "I know you're perfectly capable of doing it yourself. I'm just trying to be nice," Roy grumbled, wanting to have the last word.

"Then I thank you for your chivalry." Riza mimed a deep curtsy as they walked. Roy frowned, unable to think of a proper comeback in time. He had waited too long, and saying anything now would be a pathetic attempt. He muttered underneath his breath and pushed his hair out of his eyes with his forearm. "How long of a train ride is it, anyway?" Riza asked, looking over at him.

"Several hours. I don't know exactly. It'll be really late when we get there, and that's if the train doesn't stop. There are a couple trains that make stops at a few other towns on the way there, so we'll just have to see." Roy shrugged. "If it's one with the stops, though, we'll be in one of the compartments. If we're lucky, we won't have to share. That's the best."

A train roared from the station, its horn bellowing into the air. The two children picked up their pace. Neither of them owned a watch, and they couldn't risk being late for the train. As they climbed onto the platform, Riza reached into Roy's back pocket and grabbed their tickets, moving too quickly for him to react. She offered them to the man standing on the platform, who punched holes in the paper. "Cutting it close, aren't you?" he inquired as he gave the tickets back to Riza. "Go on, then." He nodded at the train. "Turn left and go four rooms down, then enter the one on the left."

"Thank you, sir!" Riza called as she took her bag from Roy, hurrying onto the train. The floor beneath their feet jerked as the train set into motion, and Riza had to place a hand on the wall to keep from losing her balance. She decided that a slower pace might be better suited at that point. Mentally, she counted the doors as they moved down the narrow hallway. She stopped in her tracks when she came across the fourth set of rooms. A large man in a black suit stood in the hallway, looking at her from behind his sunglasses.

Roy set down his suitcase and placed a hand on Riza's shoulder. "I've got this," he promised before squeezing past her. As he approached the man, Riza took a half-step back.

"Can I help you?" The man asked, looking down at the black-haired child.

"Yeah, this is our room and you're standing in the way."

"This is a private room."

"No, it's not. Our tickets say that these are our seats. Don't they, Riza?"

Reluctant to be drawn into the conversation, Riza shuffled forward and wordlessly handed the man their tickets before looking down at her toes.

"Doesn't matter." The man handed the tickets back to Roy, who snatched them from his hand.

"What the hell do you mean it doesn't matter?! We paid for these tickets, those are our seats, now get out of the way!"

"Little brat. I'll teach you how to speak to your elders -"

"What's going on here?" Upon hearing the soft, female voice, Riza risked a glance up. The woman was dressed quite nicely; Riza had never seen fabric that shone in such a way as it did on the woman's shawl. She had placed herself slightly between Roy and the man. One hand held her shawl around her shoulders, and the other was on her hip.

"Ma'am, I was telling these children that this is a private car. They refuse to listen."

"Because these are our seats!" Roy wanted to pull his hair out in frustration.

The woman turned around to face Roy. Riza was sure they were about to be chased off. Instead, the woman gave a slight smile and held out her hand. Suddenly uncomfortable, Roy placed the tickets in her palm. She studied them for a moment before handing them back, moving to face the man once more. "There must have been some sort of mixup with the reservation, Shepherd. I'll have my husband speak with his assistant once we arrive in Central. But the children are right; they are ticketed to sit in this car. It's no trouble, really." She looked back over her shoulder and smiled kindly. "Come on, then, you two. I'm sure you want to put your luggage away and sit down for a while."

Roy picked up his suitcase and scowled as he walked past Shepherd. Riza was two steps behind, looking at the floor as she walked. The door to the compartment slid closed behind her. Roy took her suitcase from her hands, and she took a seat as he placed it on the rack above their heads. She hated it when unnecessary attention was drawn to her, especially if it was due to something negative. She began to rub the pads of her thumb and middle finger together, a sign that she was stressed. This involuntary reaction didn't escape Roy's notice as he took a seat next to her.

"Sorry about all that. Shepherd takes his job a little too seriously sometimes." The woman smiled at them.

"We're sorry for starting the incident, ma'am." Riza's voice was meek, yet audible. Her eyes lifted, and she saw the woman's face for the first time. It was a kind face. She looked rather like Mrs. Davis, the physician's wife. "Please excuse us for the trouble we caused."

"Oh, don't worry about that, dear. We're not as fussy and uptight as some people like to think we are."

Riza glanced down at her palms and shifted in her seat. "I'm sorry, ma'am, but I'm afraid I don't know who you are."

The woman looked at her with surprise. "Oh. My name is Anetta. Anetta Bradley. What's yours?"

"Wait a second, you're Anetta Bradley?" Roy asked, looking at the woman intently. "You don't mean that you're the first lady of Amestris, do you?"

The woman laughed and waved her hand. "People take me much too seriously with that title. Mrs. Bradley is just fine."

Although Riza understood the significance of the woman's position, she didn't quite comprehend Roy's reaction. "It's nice to meet you, Mrs. Bradley. My name is Theresa Hawkeye, but I prefer to go by Riza."

"What an unusual name," Mrs. Bradley mused. "I like names like that. They make a person stop and think."

Riza could feel a tint coming to her cheeks. "Thank you, ma'am."

Realizing that it was his turn to introduce himself, Roy spoke up. "My name's Roy Mustang, ma'am."

"It's very nice to meet you both." Mrs. Bradley smiled kindly. "What are you doing on this train all by yourselves?"

"My aunt bought us tickets to come and visit Central. Master Hawkeye, Riza's father, he said that it would be fine," Roy explained.

"Master?"

"Riza's father is teaching me alchemy, ma'am."

"Is that so?" A masculine voice spoke from the doorway. The man was in full military dress, and he looked as if he were born to wear those clothes. His face had a quiet dignity to it, and the way he carried himself showed his pride. He took a seat next to Mrs. Bradley.

"Yes sir, Fuhrer King Bradley, sir." Roy wasn't quite sure how to react. This was a man who commanded, and was worthy of, respect. He wasn't military, so he didn't salute. Bowing would be just plain awkward. He couldn't extend his hand, because he had yet to introduce himself.

As though he could sense Roy's inner turmoil, Bradley laughed with a joy that did not match his previous demeanor. "It's alright, child. Continue."

"Yes sir. I was just saying that Riza," Roy nodded in her direction, "and I are going to Central to visit my aunt. I am studying alchemy under Riza's father, and he said it was alright for us to travel alone."

"Is that so? What alchemy are you studying?"

"Well, I don't really know yet, sir. I'm still trying to get a grip on all of the basics."

"You should consider joining the State Alchemist program when you get a little older. We could always use alchemists with unique skill sets."

"Dear, we're in a train, not a recruiting office," Mrs. Bradley reminded her husband.

"Right. My apologies." Bradley smiled widely. "I can be a little serious at times, can't I?" He laughed at himself.

"If you don't mind me asking, sir, what brings you out into the East?" Riza asked, speaking to the man for the first time. Roy was surprised; her voice was as level and loud as it was when she spoke to him. For whatever reason, she didn't look intimidated by the Fuhrer. "There isn't very much out this way."

"Right you are, my dear. I spent some time at Eastern Command recently. There's some tension about the annexation of the Ishval region as of late." Bradley was frowning as he said this, and both Riza and Roy felt as though they were being studied. A moment later, nothing seemed to have happened. "But that's not something that young minds need to worry about. Everything is perfectly under control."

At that, the car fell silent for a moment. Roy, who had been looking out the window, sighed. "We haven't even hit the Awrosut stop yet. Then there's Geob and Nipppax once we make it out of the East... This is going to take all night."

"Don't be silly," Mrs. Bradley urged. "My husband asked that the train skip its usual stops from East City to Central City. We should be at the station before nightfall, right, Dear?"

Bradley nodded. "I won't make my late meeting, otherwise."

"In that case, I need to call my aunt." Roy rose to his feet and stuck his hands in his pockets. To Riza, he asked, "Will you be alright here?" Once she nodded, he gave her a reassuring smile before slipping through the door. She reached into her bag and pulled out a Cretan classic, which she was attempting to read in the original language. As she settled back into her seat, Bradley quirked an eyebrow and looked at his wife. She was beaming, pleased with how intelligent these stray children were. He would have to keep an eye on these two and see where they went in the next few years. The majority of humans lived perfectly ordinary lives, but these two had a good chance of being extraordinary. He planned to make that work in his favor, if at all possible.


	7. Strange Places

Roy had fallen asleep on her shoulder hours ago, but Riza found it impossible to sleep. She knew it would help pass the time, and she could have used some more rest. Yet, despite her every effort, she could not feel at ease. There was a knot in her stomach that she just couldn't loosen. She had tried not to think about it, to focus her attention on it until it went away, even to use an eastern breathing technique taught to her by Mr. Pierre. Nothing seemed to help.

Roy let out a loud, rattling snore that tore her from her thoughts. The knot forgotten, she jolted her shoulder up. Completely unperturbed by the movement, Roy's head rolled down slightly and remained on her shoulder. Riza made a mental note that he only snored when he was on his back. If push literally came to shove, at least she knew what direction to put him in. She focused her attention back on her book, trying to work out a phrase that she hadn't come across before. Roy's head began to roll back up on her shoulder, and she used her left hand to stop the attempt.

Mrs. Bradley was watching them with great amusement. If ever opposites attracted, it was those two. She had to remind herself of how young they were; both seemed aged beyond their years already. She couldn't help but wonder what it was in their lives that would have had such an effect on them. Leaning over toward her husband, she quietly asked, "Dear, do you remember that conversation we keep putting off? I would very much like to have it tomorrow."

Bradley hesitated just long enough that he was interrupted by the train's loud whistle. Across the room, Riza looked up from her book. Roy grumbled something in a vaguely human tongue before shifting once more. His head fell off of Riza's shoulder and slammed into the wall.

"I'm up!" Roy shouted, immediately bolting upright. He chuckled nervously as he rubbed the back of his head. All those years living with his aunt had him conditioned to wake up to a smack on the head. The train rattled to a stop, and he sat up straight.

"Well, children, it's been a pleasure," Bradley said with a saccharine smile. "I'm afraid there's going to be a big to-do when we disembark, so I would recommend you wait a few seconds before heading out. Come along, Anetta."

"Yes, Dear." Mrs. Bradley waved to Roy and Riza before following her husband out of the compartment.

Riza stood on the seat so that she could pull their luggage off the rack. By the time Roy caught on, she already had both suitcases on the floor. Why was she so insistent that she do everything herself? Deciding to let it go, he began, "That was too awesome. Meeting the Fhurer and getting to ride on a train with no stops and increased speed? It can't get better than that!"

"I suppose," Riza responded noncommittaly. Upon opening the sliding door, she and Roy were caught up in a rush of bodies trying to leave the train. They were pressed tightly together along with their luggage and several other people. Riza took a deep breath to steady herself; she hated crowds, and this was too much. She could already feel her heartbeat increasing. She looked over her shoulder at Roy, unsure of what to do.

Recognizing her look, Roy pushed himself forward so that he was slightly ahead of Riza. His suitcase, however, remained behind her, his arm outstretched. The suitcase prevented those behind her from crowding, and his position had those in the front crowding into him instead of her. It wasn't the perfect solution, but it helped. Riza mouthed a _thank you,_ ever grateful that Roy never asked why in situations like this. Roy maintained their space like this until they reached the door of the car, where everyone had come to a bottleneck. Roy switched what hand his suitcase was in and reached back, curling his fingers around Riza's wrist. He moved quickly, knocking into several other passengers. Riza tried to apologize, but there were simply too many people. Then, without her realizing it, they were climbing off the platform.

They walked along a concrete path which encircled the station, allowing them to bypass the large crowds which would be waiting for their departures. The air smelled different here than in the country, and the noise in the background was constant. Riza's attention was grabbed when a sharp whistle came from the front of the station. Roy looked from side to side, but Riza had already started walking toward the source of the sound. "It's over here," she called to Roy. Roy jogged a few steps to catch her.

"How do you know?" he challenged.

"The pitch of the sound and the fact that I could see the person whistling."

"Wait, what? Through the crowd?"

Riza nodded without saying anything else. Perhaps she had already told him too much about her senses. "Just trust me."

"Roy-boy!" A hoarse shout came from in front of them, and Riza had to resist giving Roy a smug look. She settled for a small smirk and a glance out of the corner of her eye. Roy was too preoccupied with waving to notice.

The woman who Roy jogged to meet was large in stature; she was taller than most men, at least by Riza's limited sample pool. Her black hair was pulled tightly back on her head, and she wore more gold than Riza had seen in her life. A fur coat was draped across the woman's broad shoulders, and she wore so much makeup that Riza couldn't guess her age. She looked thirty, but her voice sounded much older. The cigarette between her painted fingers gave away the cause. The woman reached down and ruffled Roy's hair with a slight smile. "I was wondering if you were going to make it."

"I can manage by myself, Aunt Chris," Roy protested as he moved her hand away.

"Sure you can. I'm sure your little friend had nothing to do with it, hm?" Chris retorted sarcastically.

Riza shuffled forward, uncomfortable around the woman. The only female influence she had was her mother, and then only for a short while. Roy's aunt was a type of woman she had never encountered. "It's nice to meet you, ma'am. I'm Riza Hawkeye." Her eyes were glued to the ground, and both her hands held her suitcase.

"No, no." Chris frowned sternly. "Introduce yourself like that and life won't hesitate to walk all over you. Stand up straight, look me in the eye, and shake my hand like a woman."

Riza hesitated a moment before looking up, her honey eyes meeting Chris's dark ones. Her eyes didn't show anger or cruelty, but there was an intensity that was foreign to her. Riza did her best to mimic the woman; she rounded her shoulders back, straightened her spine, and lifted her chin. Her extended hand was met with a boisterous laugh from the woman.

"That's it!" Chris smirked as she shook her hand. "You'll be one hell of a firecracker when you grow up if you work on that confidence."

Riza didn't know what to say to that. She had never been taught that confident women were anything other than prideful and pretentious. Everything she had just done felt so fake. It simply wasn't who she was, and she preferred to remain hidden rather than to draw attention to herself. Chris Mustang was a woman who made her presence known, and Riza saw no benefit in doing so.

Roy slammed the trunk shut, their suitcases safely inside. He opened the door to the back seat, only to be stopped by a pointed cough from his aunt. "Oh, right," he murmured before standing aside and gesturing for Riza to get in. Riza quirked an eyebrow and walked straight past him to the other side of the car. She opened her own door and climbed inside. Roy frowned deeply as he did the same. "I was trying to be gentlemanly..."

"I'm perfectly capable of opening my own car door, Mr. Mustang," Riza protested, earning a snort from Chris in the driver's seat. After a moment, she added, "Thank you for the gesture."

"Girl, that boy is the furthest thing from a mister I have ever seen. Call him Roy. He doesn't mind, trust me." Chris smirked at her nephew through the rear-view mirror.

"I'm not comfortable with that, Mrs. Mustang," Riza admitted.

"It's miss. And I don't go by that name in the city. You can call me Madam or even Aunt Chris, but don't use my last name." The correction was gentle despite the gruff voice that said it. "And you're never going to grow if you don't get out of your comfort zone. When you're here in Central, call him Roy. That's a good place to start, the name and how you introduce yourself."

"Yes, ma'am."

"Good." Chris smiled and took one hand off the wheel, digging around in her pocket. She pulled out a cigarette and a lighter. She put the cigarette between her teeth and lit it without having to look. "I can tell you're a shy girl, so let me warn you. My house is boisterous. Everyone will love you, maybe a little too much. Don't let them overwhelm you, though."

Riza puzzled over these words, wondering what it was that she had gotten herself into. She had never felt so far from home, but she found that she did not miss it yet. She turned her eyes to look out the window, fascinated by the size of the homes and their frequency. If she blinked, she saw a house completely different from the last. She knew that the country's capitol was big, but she never put any thought into it. Even the streetlights were mesmerizing.

"It's prettier during the day," Roy mused. "There's more to do, then, too. All the people come out."

"But tonight, you're going to eat a good meal, wash up, and get to bed," Chris dictated. "I don't want to deal with any shenanigans, you hear me, boy? I have important people coming tonight."

"Actually important?"

"Yes, actually important," Chris huffed at this. "A member of the senior staff made a reservation this afternoon; I need the girls at their best, and no one can babysit you."

"I'm too old to have a babysitter, Aunt Chris!"

"Tell that to the last time, when you destroyed my floorboards with that chalk circle."

Before Roy had a chance to retort, Riza chimed in. "Yes, ma'am. We'll be on our best behavior."

"I like her," Chris chuckled as she slowed the car to a stop in an alleyway. She flicked her cigarette out of the door she had opened before climbing out. Riza took this as a sign that they should do the same. Roy opened the trunk, and they grabbed their suitcases. By that point, Chris had already unlocked and opened the back door. Upon entering, Riza looked around, finding it rather homey. The door led to the kitchen, which smelled wonderfully and looked rather like her own. To the left was a staircase, and to the right was a small sitting area. The door on the far side of the room was made from some sort of heavy, ornate wood. Before she could ask, Chris had already put two plates down at the kitchen table.

"Didn't get too fancy tonight. Chicken and gravy on rice was what the girls made. You know how Bea loves to cook those hometown recipes of hers."

"It smells delicious," Riza said as she sat down.

"It's all hands on deck tonight, Roy-boy. You know the drill."

"Clean the dishes, turn off the lights, make sure I shower, lock the back door." Roy ticked each point off on his fingers.

"Attaboy." Chris patted him once on the head before leaving the room through the wooden door.

Riza ate hungrily, having not realized how long it had been since her meager breakfast. Roy watched as she did so, a smile on his face as he consumed his dinner. "It's good to be home."

A bout of raucous laughter rang out from behind the wooden door, followed by a few terrible chords on a piano. Riza looked inquiringly at Roy, who shrugged. "The front is a bar. This isn't even so much a house as an apartment Aunt Chris made out of the back. It's tiny, but it has more than enough room. My sister's usually hang out out front during the day, and I'm allowed out there, too, if there aren't too many people."

"I didn't know you had sisters," Riza commented, mildly hurt that he would leave out such an important detail despite their months of friendship.

"Well, I don't, not really. My aunt employs them, but they're here all the time; some even live here with us. They're just like big sisters to me. You'll see when you meet them tomorrow." He saw Riza falter at the idea of meeting a group of new people. "Don't worry, they're really nice. Promise." He extended his arm across the table, holding out his pinky finger. When he smiled, Riza lifted her arm and did the same, wrapping her pinky finger around his.

Satisfied, Roy stood up to clear his plate. "You'll see, Central is great. We're gonna do everything."

Riza offered him a small smile in return. "We can't possibly do everything. We only have a week."

"Just wait; when my sisters meet you, they're going to be begging Aunt Chris to let us come back before we've even left."

After cleaning and putting away the dishes, Roy led the way up the stairs. The noise from below could be heard through the floor, but it was a pleasant sort of loudness. Roy set his suitcase down in front of a door before opening the next one. "This is going to be your room for the week. I'm gonna be right next door. They all have their own bathrooms, too."

Riza was astounded. Although the room was smaller than her own, it was far more lavish. All the colors in the room were rich, and she was sure that the carpet covering the wooden floor was Xingese. She was almost afraid to walk inside. She made sure to take her shoes off when she entered, but Roy didn't take the same precaution when he followed her. "Are you gonna be alright?" He asked her, unsure if anything would spark her anxieties.

"Yeah," Riza decided as she set her suitcase on the plush bedcovering. "It's just a lot nicer than home. I don't want to ruin anything."

Roy took a seat on her bed beside her suitcase. "You? There's no way. You're the most considerate person ever. Just relax. We have no studies, only a few chores, and nothing we need to do. Besides, I'm one room over. You can wake me up for anything."

Riza shrugged as she opened the latch on her luggage. "Strange people and places make me nervous."

"I'm not strange. And this place will feel like home by the end of the week, trust me. Everyone is going to love you." Roy assured her. "If it gets bad tonight, come wake me up and I'll sleep on the floor if you need me to, okay?" He saw the guilty look in her eyes and added, "Because I want to. It's not a problem or an inconvenience. I'll even leave my door open like I do at home."

"Thank you Mr.-" She hesitated as she corrected herself. "Roy."

Roy beamed. "No problem. Now let's do what we need to do. I'm beat." He stood and gave a large stretch before walking out of the room, giving a slight wave as he did so.

* * *

Riza bolted upright, sweating and breathing rapidly. She wrapped the blanket closer around herself as she became oriented to the room. No matter how many times she had that same nightmare about her mother, it still terrified her. She reached over and turned on the lamp on her bedside table. The hallway was dark and the house quiet; the patrons had departed hours before. She knew that she should shut her bedroom door so that the light didn't disturb anyone, but she couldn't bring herself to do so. Being closed in would only make the panic worse.

She stood and walked to the bathroom, turning the tap on the sink. After plugging the drain, she let it full with cold water. She took a deep breath in before submerging her face in the water. Her heartbeat slowed after a few seconds, the water causing her body to relax. When she lifted her head to breathe, she reached for the hand towel beside the sink. Her fingers grabbed the fabric, and she lifted it to dry her face. A soft knocking came from in her room, and she decided to investigate. Roy, half-asleep, was slumped in her doorway. "Bad dream?" he asked through a massive yawn.

Riza left the bathroom and sat down on her bed. "The one about my mom."

Roy frowned in understanding. "The same?"

"Yeah. Always the same."

"Justaminute," Roy mumbled as he left the room. He returned shortly after with a pillow and blanket.

"Roy, you don't-"

"Shhhh. It's three in the morning. You can fuss at me later." He had already flopped onto the ground, his eyes closed. "Sleep now."

"Right..." Riza placed herself back under the sheets and reached over to turn off the light. It was a blow to her pride and independence that she always slept better with him on the floor of her room, but she was still grateful. Just as she began to close her eyes, Roy let out a loud snore. She huffed and sat back up, looking down at him. He was fast asleep on his back, his mouth wide open. It was incredible that he never woke himself up. Riza threw off her blankets and got up once more. She rolled him onto his side, but he didn't stay there for long. Being resourceful, she pulled the chair from the desk in her room and carried it over. Using one hand to roll him back onto his side, she laid the chair down so that the back was against his own and the seat was pressed into the bedframe.

In his sleep, Roy tried to roll back onto his back, but he was unable to. Satisfied with her solution, Riza climbed back into bed, enjoying a dreamless sleep until morning.


	8. A Different Type of Family

As Roy awoke, he felt dull pains throughout his right side. What the hell happened? He placed his hands on the ground to help himself sit up, and his lower back made contact with the overturned desk chair. "What the..." A quick glance up at the bed showed him that Riza had already gotten up. He used the mattress to lift himself to his feet, narrowly missing the chair with his foot. Wondering if he hadn't been sleepwalking, he rubbed the tiredness from his eyes and shook his head. It was possible that he could have been walking around. That is, if Riza didn't have an explanation. She rarely did things without purpose. If she hadn't moved the chair, well, he supposed that he would never know. The blankets and pillows lay abandoned on the floor, kicked into a haphazard heap against the wall. It was only then that he noticed Riza's bed was already made. _Eh, screw it_ , he thought to himself, not bothering to pick up his things or make his own bed back in his room. He could deal with that later. Without fixing his personal hygiene, he trudged down the stairs, his stomach growling at him as he went.

When he stepped into the kitchen, the smell of eggs and cooked meats reached his nose. He rounded the corner of the stairs and saw Riza, who was sitting at the kitchen table. She had a mug in her hands and was speaking, her voice unwavering and comfortable.

"But even if we ignore the idea of authorial intent, there's no way that anyone can say it's not a work of female empowerment. Aerugo is far ahead of us because they never abandoned Xerxian philosophy."

"Even if they were lucky and found some in-tact texts from Xerxes, we can't know that he read any of them. You have to focus without making broad assumptions."

Roy recognized the second voice easily. Making his presence known, he approached the table and pulled out the chair to Riza's left. "Morning Riza, morning Bea."

The woman at the stove turned around, a broad smile on her face. Her green eyes shone and her dimples were prominent in her joy. The apron tied around her waist was a gingham pattern, one she had made for herself a long while ago. Her brown hair was pulled back into a long braid that fell almost to her waist. "Roy!" she exclaimed, gesturing with the spatula in her hand. "Come give me a hug, pumpkin."

Roy did as he was told, embracing his sister for a long moment. When she let him go, he made his way to the pot of coffee. "What're you talking about?"

"Riza's been reading one of my favorite books. It'll kick you in the rear if you aren't careful. I was just explaining a passage." Bea's voice was sweet and sonorant. The accent in her voice was slight, but she used plenty of colloquialisms that betrayed the region she was from. "It's this new type of theory, well, new in the last decade or so. It's swung in the other direction from where we are now. Movement, counter-movement, y'know?"

"Yeah, no." Roy laughed as he sat back down. "Science mind, remember?"

"I may not practice alchemy, but I can understand theory. That doesn't stop me." Riza wasn't looking at him, but the smirk on her lips betrayed her.

"Yeah, whatever, nerd." He gave her head a light push as he retorted. "Glad to see you two hit it off. Have you may anyone else yet?"

"Everyone else is still asleep," Bea answered. "I'm surprised _you're_ up. My little brother normally sleeps till noon, so I have no idea who you are."

Roy shrugged. "New habit, I guess."

"It took weeks to get you out of bed voluntarily to do chores," Riza pointed out.

"You're the only person I know who thinks chores should start at eight." Roy kept going, giving her no time to argue. "You're right about it," he admitted, "but it's still a little crazy."

Bea chuckled to herself in amusement. "You'll meet the rest of us as they get here. I'm the only one living with Mama Chris right now," she explained as she divided scrambled eggs onto three plates. "Y'all come help yourselves," she added, grabbing a piece of toast and walking to the table. "Oh, Riza, sweetie, don't let Roy go first. There'll be nothin' left by the time you get there."

Riza stepped in front of Roy, who was giving Bea a look of indignance. She was right, but saying it wasn't necessary. Riza helped herself to small portions of everything, even the strange yellow substance in one of the pots.

"Cheese grits!" Roy exclaimed, digging the spoon into the pot like it was gold. Plate laden with food, he joined the other two at the table.

Riza began to try everything on her plate. Many of the foods she had never tasted, and some she rarely had access to back home. Eggs and sausage were a delicacy to her, because her access was limited to what some of her neighbors decided that could spare for free of for little coin. They just weren't a necessity in her eyes. That wasn't to say she didn't enjoy them; she dug into her food with gusto that rivaled Roy. Bea was a magnificent cook; she made a mental note to ask her for pointers. Riza and Roy ate in silence, which Bea took as a good sign. The woman began to clear the mess she had made while cooking.

"That was amazing, Miss Bea," Riza complimented as she walked over to the sink. Without asking or being asked, she took a rag and began to dry the dishes that Bea had washed.

"Oh, you don't need to call me that. I'm not much older than you are, after all."

"Still, thank you for making breakfast."

"You're welcome, sweetheart." Bea hugged her with one arm, trying not to let her wet hand drop on Riza. When she didn't jump away from the physical contact, Riza began to wonder why she hadn't experienced her normal reaction. It wasn't a riddle that she already felt comfortable with Bea; the woman didn't seem to have a mean bone in her body. Maybe this was why Roy called them his sisters.

"Roy!" The cry was somewhere between a shout of joy and a lamentation, followed by rapid footsteps. By the time Riza turned around, a blond-haired woman was clutching Roy tightly. His spoon was still hanging out of his mouth, and he was trying his best to distance his ear from the loud volume. "I was sure you'd been kidnapped by Drachman traffickers! After that story in the paper about those twins, I didn't know what to do! Chris said your train passed through that same city and when you never called..."

"Calm down, Jessica." Chris' voice announced her presence before she was all the way down the stairs. "I told you the boy was fine, didn't I?"

Jessica released Roy from her death grip and straightened herself. "How was I supposed to know when he never calls or writes?"

"Riza will make sure he does more often, won't you?" Chris flicked her lighter and held it to her cigarette.

"Yes, ma'am," Riza conceded without looking up from the dish she was drying. Bea was easy to get along with; she was calm, centered, and highly educated. Jessica, on the other hand, was, well, loud. Shouting and carrying on was something Riza associated with anger rather than joy, and it made her uncomfortable to hear it used that way. She liked being able to predict people, and Jessica was a mystery to her.

"Roy, is this your _girlfriend_?" Jessica gasped, her blue eyes sparkling.

Roy's hurried "She'snotmygirlfriend!" went unheard due to Riza's simultaneous explanation.

Having practiced her introduction again that morning with Bea, she was more comfortable presenting herself. Chris' observance still wracked her nerves a bit, and she desperately wanted to impress Roy's aunt. "I'm Riza Hawkeye. I'm the daughter of Roy's alchemy master. I'm a girl and his friend, but not a girlfriend."

Chris chuckled and clapped her on the shoulder. "Getting better, I see. And was that a bit of wit I heard? Maybe you should come work for me in a couple years."

"Aunt Chris!" Roy shouted, his ears turning a bit red.

"Calm yourself, boy. Red isn't your color." Chris smiled at him tauntingly. She looked at her girls as she asked "You two are the only ones on until tonight, right?"

"Mmhm," Jessica nodded, having helped herself to an apple from the counter.

"Good. Riza can have a break from the excitement, then. I don't understand how anyone could handle meeting you all at once."

"Mama, quit pokin'" Bea complained as she handed Riza the last plate.

"Yeah, quit teasing us. Poor little Roy looks like he may pop a blood vessel." Jessica did nothing to help his embarrassment.

"Alright, alright." Chris waved a hand as she flicked the ashes off her cigarette. "Roy, I want you to help the girls clean the bar. When you're done with that, you can do whatever you want."

Riza and Bea were already gathering the cleaning supplies from under the sink when Jessica added, "You don't have to help us, Riza."

Roy shook his head, telling her "It's no use. She's going to do what she wants to do. I think she can turn off her hearing and block us out completely. It's actually pretty impressive."

"You're right," Riza chimed as she followed Bea through the large, wooden door.

Roy extended his right arm, palm up, in the direction of the door, as if to say _see?_ He stuck his hands in the pockets of his flannel pants and began to follow, shaking his head. Jessica couldn't help but laugh to herself. She liked this girl; she gave Roy a run for his money.

Riza took up a cloth and a spray-bottle, and began to wipe down one of the tables. She felt completely at home here. No, not at home; home never felt like this for her. It was more like she felt she belonged. Everyone she had met so far welcomed her with open arms, and not one of them made her feel like a burden or an inconvenience. She was being treated like a human being. This thought alone made her stomach flip. Maybe this was what a home was supposed to be, how life was supposed to feel. She blinked a few times, trying to chase away the thought. That wasn't something she needed to dwell on right now. She refused to let an anxiety attack take her on her first day away from home. She mentally berated herself, reminding her emotions that she had to present as normal. Chris and the others were safe so far, but there was no guarantee that they would stay that way. Quite simply, they weren't Roy. She wasn't ready to let anyone else in just yet. Maybe she would talk to him about her realization later that night, but maybe it was best kept to herself. She hadn't decided yet.

As she straightened back up, she almost bumped into Roy, who was sweeping behind her. She shifted to the side, narrowly avoiding him. "Careful," she reminded him as she moved to the next table.

The wooden door in the back opened to reveal Chris, who had a puzzled look on her face. "Riza, why is your desk chair on the floor by your bed?"

Riza's face was straight and serious as she responded "I have terrible nightmares, and Roy decided he was going to sleep on my floor."

"Hey!" Roy began to protest, but she cut him off.

"I put the chair by the bed to keep him from sleeping on his back. He snores," she said like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

" _I do not!_ " Roy objected, nearly drowned out by the uncontrollable laughter of Bea and Jessica. The two women were leaning on one another and the bar for support.

"Yes, you do. Loudly." Riza pointed out, aware yet indifferent of his indignation. "You don't do it when you are in your room, but you did it on the train, and you do when you sleep on the couch."

Chris looked at her girls, who were falling all over themselves. Roy was pouting; there really was no other word for it. Riza, meanwhile, was perfectly stoic, if a little confused at the reactions she had caused. Chris sighed, shaking her head. "Okay, then," were the only words that made it out of her mouth. "Get back to it, you four. We open in an hour."

Roy picked the broom back up with a huff. "I do not," he muttered to himself.

Still having no idea what she did, Riza started cleaning tables once more. It didn't take long to get the bar tidied up, much to everyone's relief. Riza hopped up on a bar stool and asked Roy "What do you want to do today?"

Roy jumped up into the bar itself. "Well, we're young and broke. That limits our options. Sometimes I walk around the city, or just hang out in the bar - Aunt Chris lets me stay depending on who comes in. Everything in the city costs money, which sucks." He frowned to himself.

"Why don't we walk around? We usually go to town this time of day, and if I don't walk, I'll get antsy." Riza looked up at him to see what he thought.

"Sure." Roy jumped down off the bar. "Come on, then. We can't go out like this."

Jessica watched with baited breath as the children left through the back door. As soon as she heard it shut, she swiveled to look at Bea, almost jumping with excitement. "Oh my god, how cute are they?! Our little Roy has a crush!"

"Shhhhhh," Bea scolded her, making a downward motion with her hand. "You're gonna scare her off like that! She's skittish. If you embarrass her the poor thing might just shut down. Besides, Roy might die if you say anything to him. Bless his heart, he'd never be able to talk to her again!"

"But what if we can give them a hand?" Jessica pressed.

"They're just babies, Jess. Let them be." Bea busied her hands by gathering the cleaning supplies. "If Roy isn't an idiot, he'll be studying there for a while. You can meddle when they get older. Lord knows I can't stop you."

* * *

When Roy and Riza returned, the street lamps had come on, signaling dusk. Riza had her hands clasped behind her back, a little bounce in her step. Roy had been watching her to see if it was a short change in pace, but she kept it up for several steps. He had never seen her walk like that. She had overtaken him by a couple paces, and when he said her name, she turned around, surefootedly walking backward. There was a slight glint in her she that he had only seen when she was being mischievous. The corner of her mouth was turned upward, and she failed to notice Roy's skepticism. "You okay?" Roy asked, maintaining their pace.

"Yeah, why?" Riza asked, tilting her head slightly.

"You're acting weird."

"Weird how?"

"You're bouncing and walking the wrong way."

Riza shrugged, looking directly at him. "I'm happy," she stated simply, certain that that was the reason for her behavior. Yet her response caught both her and Roy off guard. Riza felt guilty that she never had this feeling at home, not often, anyway. Roy was struck with an odd combination of pity and determination that he couldn't name. Lost in her self-depreciating thoughts, Riza realized a moment too late that her show had caught an uneven part of the sidewalk. As soon as she noticed that she was falling, she felt a jerk that stopped her descent. Roy had caught her by the wrist, and he moved his other hand to her upper back so that he could steady her. When he pulled her up, she was looking down at her feet.

"What is it?"

"I made myself look like a fool," Riza admitted, daring to look up.

"So? I make myself look like a fool all the time." Roy grinned in an attempt to get her to do the same. "Don't be so hard on yourself, Riza. You don't deserve it."

The look Riza gave him was one he had never seen before. Worried that he had upset her further, he opened his mouth to backtrack. His mouth continued to hang agape when he looked down to find Riza hugging him tightly. Well, that was the last thing he expected. She so rarely showed outward affection to anyone, let alone him. The "thank you" she said into his shoulder left him frozen, totally unsure of what to do.

Finally, she pulled away from him. She had enough confidence to look him in the eye as she disclosed, "No one's ever said something like that to me before. I'm so used to being blamed and scolded that I do it to myself. You're the first person to make me think that I shouldn't do that to myself. I try not to, and it's hard, but hearing you say that means a lot to me. So thank you."

Just when he thought he had her figured out, he realized each time that he had barely scratched the surface. He linked his arm with hers and stuck his hand back in his pocket, leading her further down the street. His stomach growled, angry with him for waiting so long for dinner. He had adjusted to what he called Hawkeye-time; his aunt still worked on Mustang-time, which meant dinner wasn't served until about eight-thirty. He hung his head and let out a groan. "Hungry..."

"You didn't think to bring a snack?" Riza was surprised at his uncharacteristic behavior.

"I never do. Your place is always close enough that I can just run inside. It's easy that way." The lights of the bar lit up the sidewalk, but it was relatively quiet. Roy peeked through one of the front windows, seeing if it was safe to go through the front door. "It's just Bea with some guy. It's dead tonight," he commented as he opened the door.

"And this girl, fresh from the academy, mind you, has the you-know-whats to stand toe-to-toe with me. And you know what she does? She looks me in the eye and she says to me _if my being a woman is such a problem, sir_ \- she hissed at me, just like that - _then perhaps it's because I am proving that women are better soldiers._ " The man slapped his hand down on the bar for emphasis. "Well, I'll be damned!" He laughed contagiously. "And she was right! Not one of my men had a better hand-to-hand score, let alone melee combat. She could hand any one of them their asses on a silver platter."

Bea smiled at the story. "So, did you get her?"

"Me? I wish! She just called me a pervert and made a reference to the size of her sword, if you catch my drift."

"Sounds like you've had someone put you in your place, you old coot," Chris gasped from behind the bar, smiling at her own joke.

"Maybe so," the man admitted with a shrug. "But I can't keep up with the younguns forever, can I?"

"Cut the crap. You're gonna hang on to that uniform as long as you can."

"Damned right." The man lifted his glass in a toast to no one in particular.

"Gramps!" Roy exclaimed, running over to the man. He jumped up on the bar, ducking to avoid a slap upside the head from his aunt for doing so. "You're telling military stories without me?" His voice held a drop of genuine disappointment.

"The General doesn't come here to entertain you, boy." Chris huffed, unfailing a bottle of amber liquid.

"Oh, it's quite alright, Chris. What, did you get kicked out already? After all the work I want through?"

"No!" Roy was insulted. "I'm not that stupid. We're here for vacation."

"We?"

"Yeah, me and Riza. Riza, come meet Grumps!"

She swallowed her discomfort, but she did allow herself a sharp look at Roy for putting her on the spot. "I think you mean Gramps."

Roy shook his head. "No, he's grandpa Grumman. Grumps. Fits his attitude, too."

"Watch it, boy. I may be old but I can still take you." The glint in the old man's eye showed that he wasn't entirely kidding.

Turning his attention back to Riza, Roy added, "Grumps has been coming here since before Aunt Chris adopted me."

Riza studied the old man cautiously. She was more wary of men than women, but this man seemed alright. His military uniform made him look severe, but he had a mustache that made it difficult to take him seriously. He reminded her a bit of Mr. Pierre in how he carried himself. She took stock of the room, aware that Roy, Bea, or Aunt Chris would help her if she needed it; she had at least that much faith in her new acquaintances. After she determined her safety, she extended her hand to the man. "I'm Riza Hawkeye, Roy's master's daughter."

She was caught completely off guard by the sudden change in the general's demeanor. She watched as he looked at Chris, who gave a subtle nod in return. He then took Riza's hand, holding it in his own. "It's wonderful to meet you," was all he could manage in the moment.

Riza had no idea what was going on. She began to feel alarm creeping up from her stomach, and she looked at the one safe space in the room. Roy caught her gaze and briefly looked at his aunt, who was smiling. He then looked at Grumman, who he wasn't able to read. His eyes finally fell back on Riza, her confusion mirrored in his.

"May I please have my hand back, sir?" Riza asked slowly and quietly, not wanting to invite any further reaction.

Grumman coughed and removed his hands from hers. "Yes, of course." Once more, his eyes met Chris'.

Chris turned her attention to Roy. "Come on, boy. I think the general wants to talk to your girlfriend for a while."

Riza's eyes locked with his, their message for him alone to understand: _don't leave me_. He looked at his aunt and began "I don't think -"

"Good, because you don't have to." Chris placed her hand firmly on his shoulder, steering him out of the room. "You can sit right by the door if you think you need to, but you're going to be on the other side of it."

Roy turned his head back to look at Riza, but Chris had pushed him through the door before he had the chance. His hands flew to the doorknob, only to find that Chris had locked it from the other side. She was always one step ahead of him. Roy continued to rattle the doorknob, shouting in frustration. In a flash of brilliance, he dashed out the back door and ran around front. He bit back a string of curses when he saw the curtains drawn, and he had no luck with that door, either. With a growl, he kicked the front door, doing more harm to his foot than the hardwood.

"Roy Mustang, get your rear back inside!" Bea ordered as she rounded the corner.

"Sure. Just unlock the door."

Bea grabbed the top of his ear between her thumb and forefinger. She then began to pull Roy along with her. He followed obediently, swearing in pain as he went. He was drug through the back door and finally released, but Bea wasn't done with him yet.

"What's gotten in to you?!"

"Chris locked me out!"

"And?"

"And?! And Riza is in there and I should be too! I should know what that weird old man wants to say to her! It's not fair that-"

"God save me, Roy, not everything is about you!"

Roy stopped, trying to process what had just been said to him. He opened his mouth, but when Bea took a step in his direction, he faltered.

"You have no idea what that little girl has been through. I don't know her as well as you do, no, but I can see. We all can. Every one of us here knows what it takes to make a girl have that look in her eyes. You don't know everything, and we don't want you to. But, so help me, Roy, maybe her life is going to get a little bit better tonight. Your stomping around and throwing a tantrum? It's selfish. That girl would give you everything she has because, right now, you're the only person she trusts. You need to give at least a quarter of that, don't you think?"

Roy turned his back on her and stalked into the sitting room. He threw himself down on the couch nearest the door, never taking his eyes off the polished wood.

After several moments of silence, Bea followed him and took a seat on the other side of the couch. "What're you thinking?"

"She wanted me to stay," Roy admitted, his gaze still away from his sister. "She looked at me, and I knew she wanted me to stay. She's scared..." His chin dropped as he sighed. "I know she is. She doesn't feel safe."

"You got all of that from one look?"

"Well, yeah. That's how she talks sometimes. Sometimes, at her house, it's better not to say something out loud. She's had her whole life to learn how to speak without making a sound. Me, I'm not so good at it." Roy shook his head softly. "Grumps scares her. Lots of men do, I've noticed. Even Aunt Chris scares her some. But she's not scared of you."

"Roy, is there anything you need to tell me?" Bea probed cautiously.

Roy shook his head in response. "It's not like anything super bad has happened. Yeah, Master Hawkeye can be scary, but we don't even see him all that often."

"And her mom?"

"Dead. She doesn't like to talk about it."

After taking in this new information, Bea smiled softly at the black-haired boy. "You care about her a lot. But you have to learn that you're not the only one who wants her to be happy. I do, Mama does, and even Grumps. You have to let us love her a little bit, too." She reached over and ruffled his hair. "There's stew in the fridge," she announced before standing up. "Mama's probably closed the bar by now. I'm gonna have an early night."

Roy made a vague noise as a reply, and he listened as her footfalls on the stairs became quieter, and then silent. A part of him felt like Bea had a point, but his protective side fought against her. The war in his head made him forget his hunger, and he slumped on the couch, waiting for the door to open.


	9. Kids Will Be Kids

The sunlight peeked from behind the heavy curtains, the only light in the room. As was his luck, Roy's face managed to catch the sunbeam, and he threw an arm up over his face to stop it. The movement he made was enough to wake him, and he grabbed his blanket before attempting to roll onto his back. He was stopped by an unusual weight on his side, which he attempted to push away. It fought back, shooing away his hand. Becoming frustrated, Roy grabbed the blanket tightly and rolled over with force, sending him and the weight tumbling off the couch and onto the floor. He groaned, looking up at the ceiling and lamenting the bump that was sure to grow on the back of his head. Something moved to his left, and he finally looked over.

Riza was sitting cross-legged on the floor, rubbing the back of her neck. "There's something so wrong with you," she grumbled, not bothering to look in his direction.

As his senses came back to him, Roy realized that he had never left the sitting room. He had no memory of Riza coming back or even of falling asleep in the first place. He propped himself up on his elbows. Instead of offering an apology, he stated "You were gone a long time."

"Yeah." Riza grabbed the blanket from him and climbed back on the couch, cocooning herself into it. She scooted to the edge and held the blanket open, indicating that he should join her. When he took his place beside her, she continued, "General Grumman and Aunt Chris talked to me about a lot of things. I still don't really know how to process everything. They told me that the general is my grandfather. He went off to war a long time ago, and his wife left him while he was gone. She was pregnant with my mother." She tucked herself into the arm of the couch. "He tried to reach out to her, but my mother didn't want any contact with him. Supposedly her mother told her that her stepfather was her real father. She never believed the general. He said that the last time he tried to speak to her was before I was born. My father didn't take kindly to him at all." She frowned pensively. "My father threatened him, and he stepped away. He never knew that I existed. They admitted that he was the one to send you to us, not only because you could study alchemy, but also to see how my mother was faring. But you found me instead."

Roy wrapped his arm around her shoulders and waited for her to continue. To his surprise, she rested her head on his shoulder. "He wanted to know everything about me and my life. He asked me so many questions and treated me as if he had always known me. It was too much. That was when Bea pulled me aside and gave me a cup of tea. The general and Aunt Chris were still talking, and I don't know what she said, but she made him angry. He slammed his fists on the table and stood up. He startled me, and I spilled my tea. He looked over at me, and I just froze. I don't know why, but I did. I thought he was going to yell at me, but he didn't. He just sat back down and kept talking to Aunt Chris. Bea helped me clean the table, and she decided that I should go to bed. She walked me to the door, and when I saw you on the couch, well, I just sat down. I was going to wake you, but I guess I fell asleep too."

Silence fell over the two, Riza's breath falling into time with Roy's. Just when Roy suspected that she had drifted off, Riza admitted "He asked me if I wanted to live with him." Roy made a noise of curiosity in the back of his throat. "Aunt Chris said it would be a good idea, too. I don't understand. It's like no one wants me at home. I mean, it's nice here, but I don't want to move."

"You don't have to," Roy assured her. "No one is going to make you do anything. You can trust me on that."

"I do." Riza lifted her head off his shoulder. "Everyone seems to think that I'm not safe, that I'm too fragile. But I feel safe there, especially with you living with us."

"I'm not going anywhere, and neither are you " Roy pulled her in for a hug. When he let her go, he got to his feet and offered her his hand. "Now come on. There's a fair in town, and Aunt Chris Is taking us."

Riza gave a soft smile. "I'd like that. Will it be just us?"

"Dunno. But don't worry; we'll stick together."

"Thank you." It wasn't that she felt threatened, but her newly discovered grandfather made her a bit uneasy. With Roy there, the chance that he might show up was less daunting. She took his outstretched hand and let him help her up, taking the blanket along with her.

Rather than let go, Roy asked "So what do you think of Grumps? If you leave out the surprise and wariness."

"He's rather strange," Riza admitted. "I don't like unpredictable people."

At the same moment, Roy and Riza harmonized "But I'm not predictable." Riza grinned mischievously at the crease between Roy's brows. He let it go, thinking that getting her in a good mood again was worth a slightly bruised ego. He watched as she turned on her heel, headed for the stairs. "Hey!" Roy shouted after her. She paused to look back on the first step. "Happy birthday."

Just as she was about to thank him, he cut her off. "But you don't get your present now. I'm going to save it for when you least expect it."

Her amber eyes softened, and her lips turned upward. "Should I be worried?" An unexpected squeak came from her as she bolted up the stairs, Roy hot on her heels.

"I'll show you worried!" He called playfully, but by the time he reached the top of the stairs, she had closed and locked the door to her room.

Chris stood at the far end of the hall, chuckling to herself. "Kids..." she murmured, shaking her head. It was good to see Roy in such high spirits. The girl, too. In the short time Riza had been in her home, she had seen the highs and lows of the girl's personality. Without Roy, Chris had no idea where the girl would be. She had saved many a young woman from a desperate situation, but none of them had as much trauma. Her home had long since become a haven for young women to escape their husbands, their families, their lives. She just hoped that the girl would find a bit of comfort inside these walls. Her age wasn't a factor in Chris's eyes; she firmly believed that anyone who walked through her door had to have the courage to save herself. Chris merely provided the resources. For now, Roy seemed to be her saving grace, and perhaps that was enough.

* * *

Aside from their arrival at Central Station, Riza had never seen so many people gathered in one place. She stuck close to Roy, who at least seemed to know where he was going; Chris had wandered off to break a moderately large bill into petty cens for them. Riza had to raise her voice over the crowd to ask Roy where they were going. He didn't answer her, and she wasn't sure if he had even heard her. He reached back and grabbed her hand, pulling her along as he weaved through the crowd. Riza almost ran into him when he stopped abruptly. Above them towered a massive wheel, so tall that it seemed to touch the sky. It rotated slowly, cars dangling from the contraption.

"Wanna go for a ride?" Roy asked, looking over at her.

A blur of motion caught her attention, and she looked past Roy at a rickety wooden structure, not quite as tall as the wheel. Once more, the car sped past, thundering its presence. "I want to go on that." Riza nodded in the ride's direction.

"Are you sure? That's kind of something you work your way up to."

"Come on," Riza insisted, sliding past him to join the line. The man who was taking cens looked at her and motioned to the board marked with lines. Seeing that her height was satisfactory, she was ushered through the gate. Roy had never felt so happy to have a growth spurt, which in the span of a few weeks put his height back over Riza's. The two were strapped into their seats, and Roy began his warning.

"If you want to get off at any time, just tell me so I can tell the operator, okay? The ride is going to shake, but we're perfectly safe, even on the drops."

"Yeah," Riza responded, grabbing onto the bar in front of her with both hands. "Got it."

The car lurched forward, clacking along the rails as it built up momentum. Roy felt the gravity pull his head back toward the ground, pressing his back into the uncomfortably rigid seat. There was the ominous stall at the top of the hill, and the car lurched downward at high speed. The wind stung his face and made it difficult to keep his eyes open. He gripped the bar until his knuckles were white as the world flew past.

Riza involuntarily let out a scream of excitement as they shot downward. The bottom of her stomach dropped, and she imagined this was what flying felt like. A sharp turn sent her sliding into Roy, who was shocked to see the smile on her face. As their speed lessened, he asked "Are you alright?"

"Of course!" She shouted. "This is great!"

Roy was taken aback by her uncharacteristic outburst, but he considered it anything but bad. She was genuinely enjoying herself. He bit back a groan as the car tilted up once more, an unwilling participant. Maybe if he closed his eyes this time... As soon as he felt the drop, his eyes shot open. There was no way he was doing this blindly. Beside him, Riza had raised both her hands in the air and was screaming once more. When the turn took them, she crashed into him, fumbling for the bar. She grinned and offered a "Sorry" before inching back to her side of the car. Roy grinned back at her, mentally and physically bracing himself for the rest of the ride. The nausea was worth seeing her enjoy herself in such a simple way. All the same, he couldn't conceal his relief when the ride was over. he climbed out on unsteady legs while Riza ran out in front of him. "Let's go again!"

"I think Roy-boy may need a minute." Chris' gruff voice signalled her approach. She placed a hand on Riza's shoulder as she said "He doesn't have the best constitution when it comes to rollercoasters." Not wanting to prove her point, Roy made a brave attempt at finding his footing. "Riza, I invited your grandfather to join us, but he wants to make sure you are okay with it first."

In good spirits after the adrenaline rush she just had, Riza felt as though she could take on the world. "Sure," she said without hesitation.

Chris smiled, pleased with her answer. "I'll go tell him. You two go try your hands at some of the games. Make Roy win you a prize." Smirking at herself, the woman turned and disappeared back into the crowd.

"Why do I need to make you win me a prize?" Riza asked in confusion, looking down at the cens in her palm.

"Don't worry about it," Roy insisted, taking the lead by beginning to walk. "You sure you're okay with Grumps being here?"

Riza shrugged. "I won't know until he is."

"You seem more okay with him than you did earlier."

"I don't know him yet. Maybe he's nice like Aunt Chris." For some reason, she was inclined to give her grandfather the benefit of the doubt. This puzzled her far less than it did Roy.

"Hey there, little lady!" A man in a brightly colored shirt called from within a booth. Her attention caught, Riza looked in his direction. "Wanna try your hand? First go's free."

Riza and Roy exchanged a look before approaching the game, which consisted of several bird-shaped targets on a series of tiered rails. A pellet gun lay on the counter, secured to the booth with a long rope. "All you gotta do is knock down the birds. The more you knock down, the bigger the prize." The man's wide grin was almost off putting.

Riza hesitantly placed her hand on the gun and nodded. "Okay, I guess I can try." The man stepped to the side and pulled a lever, setting the targets into motion. Riza's first shot missed spectacularly. Her second was closer, but still wide off the mark. As she set up for her third, the rails abruptly stopped.

"Oh, sorry, little lady. Better luck next time." The man consoled almost condescendingly.

Roy stepped forward and pulled a coin out of his pocket. "My turn." He picked up the gun and weighed it in his hands like an old pro. The man in the booth chuckled at the sight, stepping back to the side.

"Let's see what you got, sharpshooter." The man pulled the lever once more, urging the targets into motion. Roy's approach was to fire rapidly and indiscriminately at the game. Riza and the man watched him with interest as he knocked down a single target. When he pulled the trigger again, a faint clicking was all that could be heard.

"Oh, too bad. You used all your shots." The man took the gun from him and reloaded it.

"What?! There's a limit on it? That's crap!" Roy protested. He was cut off when the man shoved a lollipop in his face.

"Here ya go, kid."

With a frown, Roy begrudgingly snatched the lollipop from his hand. "Let's go, Riza."

Instead of following him as he stalked off, Riza walked back up to the booth. "I want one more try," she decided as she placed her money on the counter.

"Come on, Riza, this guy's a con artist!" Roy protested, shooting the man a very ugly look.

"One more," Riza repeated, picking up the gun. The man swept her cens into his pocket before pulling the lever. As the targets began to dart about, Riza drew in a deep breath, drawing the gun to her shoulder. She fired her eight shots in rapid succession, running out of tries before her time was up. She set the gun down on the counter and looked at her handiwork before looking at the man. "What does eight targets get me?"

"Holy shit!" Roy exclaimed as he rushed to her side. "In your face!" he hooted at the man as Riza was handed a large, stuffed dog. He jumped up and down a few times, laughing loudly and hollering. "Hell yeah!" As they walked away from the booth, his excitement remained. "That was awesome! The look on his face! He looked like a total dumbass!"

"Watch your mouth, boy," Chris scolded, having seemingly appeared from nowhere. "I could hear you cursing from across the fair. I didn't bring you here so that you could embarrass me."

"But you should have seen it!" Roy continued at the same volume.

Before Chris could scold him more severely, the general appeared by her side. He was holding a large plastic cup filled with something vibrantly red and half-frozen. "Seen what?" he inquired.

"Riza just conned a con artist!"

"I won a prize at a booth," Riza explained, not seeing what all the excitement was about. "I failed the first time, then I watched you fail, and I tried it a different way than both of us. Trial and error."

"No one ever beats those guys! The games are rigged to make you lose."

"He has a point," Grumman chimed in. "I can't remember the last time I won anything from a fair. Fantastic job."

Riza returned his smile. She was starting to feel a little anxious from all the attention, though. She tightened her grip on the large stuffed animal for security she didn't know she needed. Taking it upon herself to change the subject, she asked Roy "Do you want to go on the rollercoaster again?"

Roy made a noise of hesitancy, and Grumman sprang to his rescue. At least, one could call it that. "Roy, you haven't even won the girl a prize yet. Aren't you going to be gentlemanly?"

"I don't need him to. I already won myself a prize." Riza had no idea why everyone else saw it as such a big deal.

Grumman guffawed. "That's my girl!"

Riza was slightly taken aback at the use of the possessive, but it didn't bother her like she thought it should have. She looked at Roy, knowing exactly how she was playing her cards when she said, "But it's my birthday..."

"Oh, you cheeky little-" Roy couldn't get out the rest of the sentence before he caught her smirk. "Not funny!"

"Come on, you know I wouldn't do that. If you don't want to go, we won't go." Riza bumped him with her shoulder. "Wuss."

Roy whipped around and made a grab for her. Riza lept aside with a yelp, nearly bumping into another fairgoer. "Quit it, you two." Chris placed a hand on each of their shoulders. "I've already had to search for you too many times today."

"Oh, let them be kids, Chris." Grumman smiled. "We need to be on our way soon, anyway."

"How come?" Roy asked, forgetting his pursuit.

"Bea stayed home to cook Riza an extravagant birthday dinner," Grumman explained, beaming at his granddaughter. "The girls are quite taken with you."

Riza looked up at Chris. "She didn't need to do that, really."

"She wanted to," Chris insisted. "She thinks of you as a little sister; she's told me so several times in the last few days. Now let her do something for you without protesting. I swear the two of you would just go in circles unless someone told one of you to accept a kindness." Her 'hmph' at the end of her statement betrayed her amusement. "You have time for one more ride."

Roy's eyes lit up mischievously, and he took Riza's stuffed dog, handing it to Grumman. "Hold onto this. We'll be back." He grabbed Riza's hand and darted off, leaving the puzzled adults behind. There was no line, and Roy placed a few cens in the hand of the attendant. Still holding Riza's hand, he helped her into a flat-bottomed boat which sat in a shallow river of water.

"What is this?" Riza asked, looking around her.

"You'll see," Roy said vaguely.

The attendant used his foot to push the boat into motion, and the current took them slowly around a bend. As they rounded the corner, Riza saw a steep drop off in their path. "Roy..." she said cautiously, looking over at him. When she met his gaze, he smirked in his infuriating way.

"Hold on," he warned, taking his own advice. The current swept them over the edge, and they fell at a steep angle. Riza hardly had time to react before they came crashing into the large pool at the bottom. Waves splashed over them, the water slowing their momentum. When the boat was pulled to the edge with a long rope by another attendant, Riza was still trying to get water out of her eyes.

Both children climbed out of the boat, soaking wet. Roy took off his shirt and rung it out, splashing water all over the ground. Riza raised her hands to her hair and moved them rapidly back and forth, dislodging water droplets as she did so. When she finally stopped water from trailing down into her eyes, she wiped them with the backs of her hands and turned to look at Roy. Her eyes caught sight of Chris and Grumman standing a few meters behind him. Grumman was chuckling, the stuffed dog under one arm. Chris was staring at them, mouth agape and eyes wide in disbelief. They were going to get an earful about this one.

She felt a tap on her shoulder, and she looked back at Roy. He was standing in front of her, his shirt slung over one shoulder. His arm was extended, and his hand was closed into a fist. He opened it to reveal a small, thin bracelet. It was a very simple band, and it wasn't exactly perfect, but he was incredibly proud of his handmade gift. He waited for Riza to take it from him before saying "Happy birthday."


	10. Books by the Fire

Riza and Roy's return to Giribaz was met with far less pomp and circumstance than in Central. Their homecoming was greeted with a noise of acknowledgement from Berthold, who quickly returned to his study, but not before dropping a heavy tome on the coffee table in the sitting room. Roy sighed, aware that this was his punishment for abandoning his studies for a week. He hadn't even had time to set down his suitcase. Once he stopped wallowing in self-pity, he realized that Riza had already been upstairs and back. She stood in front of him, waving her hand in front of his face. "Earth to R-" she broke off, realizing that they were back home. She stepped to the side, tearing her eyes from him. "Sorry, Mr. Mustang."

"Hey," Roy grabbed her wrist just below her bracelet to keep her from moving further away. "Don't start that again. I'm still me, still Roy. Call me that around your dad if you have to, but let's not go back to that, okay?"

Riza moved her wrist from his grasp, wrapping her own hand around the same spot. Her thumb brushed lightly over her bracelet as she said "I'll try."

"That's good enough for me." Roy smiled. He set his suitcase down in the middle of the foyer, earning him a sharp look. "Alright," he complained, picking it back up and taking it up the stairs to his room.

Riza looked around her, weighted down by what she saw. The sink was full of dishes, the rug hadn't been beaten; even the sun in the windows seemed to stream in melancholy. She had become accustomed to the noise of Chris' home, the brightness of the bar, the smiling faces. Homesickness clawed at her heart for the home that wasn't hers. As she walked through the kitchen and sitting room, turning on what lamps she could, the house began to illuminate. Finding that this wasn't enough, she pulled her coat off the rack and slipped it on before walking purposefully out the front door.

Roy came back down to find the door open, the cold winter air spilling inside. He could hear a rhythmic thumping outside the house. Shutting the door behind himself, he rounded the corner to see Riza chopping firewood. Try as she might, she hadn't gotten a single log split properly. With a cry of frustration, she struck again, chipping off a small piece of wood from the edge of the log. The axe, which was half her size, took both her hands to use. Before she could lift it again, Roy called a rapid "Hey hey hey hey hey!" Riza looked over at him and quirked an eyebrow.

"Let me do that. You're gonna hurt yourself on a downswing like that."

Relenting far more easily than she wanted to, Riza handed him the handle of the axe before stepping aside. She watched Roy swing down, splitting a log with relative ease for his size; he was far better at it than her, anyway. Rather than go inside, she stood in silence and watched him work. When Roy set the axe down, he chided "If you wanted the house warm, you probably shouldn't have left the door open."

"The fire isn't for heat," Riza countered as she bundled the firewood in her arms. "I want it for the light. The house is too dark."

"Really? I thought you liked it that way."

"I did." She walked back through the front door, her nose stinging slightly from the cold. The fireplace was soon fed, and she used a lighter to ignite a piece of newspaper, which she poked inside. The fire began to crackle. Riza fanned the flames to get the fire to take, a wave of warmth washing over her as it did. As per usual, she pulled a book from the shelf and retrieved a blanket from the basket.

Roy had only just sat down to study when Riza sat beside him, resting her back against his side. "Comfortable?" he asked pointedly, becoming less surprised with her actions by the day.

"Yes," was her response as she threw the blanket over her bent knees.

The two read in silence for several minutes, the fire warming them from across the room. After closing her book and listening to the fire crackle, Riza broke the silence. "Roy?"

"Yes?"

"We'll go back and visit soon, won't we?"

"Of course."

Satisfied with the answer, Riza opened her book again and picked up where she left off _._

_I am still in the state of bliss in which you left me. There is not the tiniest cloud in this pure sky, not a grain of sand in our lake. I'm beginning to believe that there are angels disguised as men who pass themselves off as such and who inhabit the earth for a while to console and lift up with them toward Heaven the poor, exhausted, and saddened souls who were ready to perish here below.*_

* * *

Winter brought with it a freeze unusual this far into the eastern region. It snuck up on the town with swift fury, leaving everything coated in slick, gritty ice. There was little snow to speak of, and the sleet and hail that fell mixed with the dirt in the roads and around homes. It was an ugly sort of peace. Roy and Riza began to limit their trips into town after the first freeze almost caused an unaware Riza to slip down a hill. The grass crunched beneath their feet when they walked, making their shoes muddy and wet with freezing water.

After one such freeze, Roy was rudely awoken by being vigorously shaken. He groaned, placing his pillow over his head in an attempt to ignore the sensation. The pillow was pulled from his head and came down on his side, making a soft thud as it did so.

Roy, half awake, sat up on bed and complained "Damn it Riza, don't you know what time it is?"

"The pipe in the kitchen burst. I need your help." Riza was pulling him out of bed by his arm. "We need to stop it before it gets worse. Now come on!"

Roy stumbled down the stairs and was startled awake when his feet landed in a puddle of water. Not bothering to get his boots, he rushed as fast as he could without slipping into the kitchen. Riza was hauling a large bucket in from outside, struggling with the weight of the metal. Roy quickly grabbed the other side, and the two maneuvered it under the kitchen sink. Several cleaning supplies met a watery fate when Roy swept them out of the way with his foot in order to make room. The pipe contained for the time being, no more water would spill out into the house.

His sight landed on the basket of linens, and Roy sloshed over to grab as many towels and blankets as he could carry. As much as he tried to mop up the water, the majority slipped right around his attempt. Growling in frustration, he began to throw the linens down on the floor, where they began to rapidly soak up the water.

Riza had made her way over to the telephone and dialed the number pinned to the wall at eye-level. "Please work please work please work please work," she prayed under her breath until she heard a tone from the phone line. If she believed in miracles, she would say that this was surely one. A click was followed by a woman's voice on the other end.

_Hello?_

"Jessica, it's Riza. I need to talk to Aunt Chris."

_Riza! How are you?! We just sent you and Roy a letter. I wish I knew your phone worked, otherwise we would have just called!_

"It rarely does. Please hand the phone to Aunt Chris."

_Roy's not giving you trouble, is he? Because-_

"Jessica. I need you to give the phone to Aunt Chris. It's really important."

_We'll, maybe I can-_

"Jessica!" Riza's sudden shout startled Roy, who was still throwing blankets all over the downstairs.

With a huff, Jessica relented on the other end of the line.

_Okay, but you have to promise you and Roy will call soon._

_"_ If we can," Riza agreed. She waited on the line until she heard Chris' gruff voice.

_Well, you have her all worked up, but don't worry. She'll be over it in a few hours. What do you need?_

"A pipe burst in the kitchen and I need to know what we should do."

_That's unfortunate._ There was a pause on the line, which Riza assumed meant Chris was smoking. _So here's what you need to do..._

* * *

Roy lay on his back underneath the sink, doing his best to follow Riza's instructions. He kept getting dripped on, the water running down his face.

"Make sure you patch the entire leak, otherwise it might burst again."

"I knooow." Out of sight, Roy rolled his eyes as he said it.

"Don't roll your eyes at me, Roy Mystang."

Roy shimmered out from under the sink and stood up, looking down at Riza. "What're you gonna do about it, Riza Hawkeye?"

Annoyed, Riza snatched the wrench from him and dropped down under the sink, mumbling to herself. "Useless jerk."

"What was that?" Roy demanded, tapping his foot. When he didn't get an answer, he probed "Riza? Well?"

"I heard you." Riza shoved the toolbox out from underneath the sink before following it. She took a rag off the counter and began to dry her face.

"Would a useless person have mopped up the floors?" Roy demanded, clearly not willing to let this go.

"And have left them there?" Riza asked pointedly, glancing at the drenched blankets covering the house.

The two stood their ground, glaring at one another, waiting for the other to make a move. Roy broke first, turning in a huff to gather the linens off the floor. Riza aided in the endeavor, both children dumping the blankets into the bathtub. As Riza dropped the last of them, both she and Roy were soaked to the skin, and none the warmer for it.

The floors were still a little damp, and Roy was doing his best to dry them. He swore under his breath, cursing water in all the ways he could think of. Riza passed by him unnoticed. She grabbed the handles of the metal tub, now filled with water, and found that she couldn't get it off the ground. "Roy, come give me a hand with this."

"I can't." He never looked up from the task at hand.

"What?"

"I'm useless."

Riza raised her eyes upwards, praying for patience to whoever may be listening. She took a deep breath before saying, "I lost my temper for a little bit. I was mad at the situation. I'm sorry I called you that. Now, please come help me."

"Say it."

"What now?" she groaned.

"Say I'm not useless."

Riza looked at him in disbelief, seeing that he was completely serious. When he arched an eyebrow at her, she relented. "You're not useless. Now will you please help me dump this outside?"

Roy got to his feet and walked over to her, grabbing the other side of the bucket. The two of them barely managed to get it out the door before Riza's arms started to shake. "Set it down," Roy told her, motioning her out of the way when she did so. He placed both hands against the bucket and began to push, scraping it across the porch. When he reached the steps, he gave it a shove, turning it on its side. The metal clanged and the water poured down the steps and into the yard.

"The steps are going to freeze," Riza pointed out.

"They already did," Roy said dismissively, turning the bucket upright. "Let's get inside before we do the same."

The children trailed water up the stairs as they went to their rooms. Riza changed out of her wet clothing and put on the warmest pyjamas she had. Now that they had used all the blankets as towels, she had no choice but to unmake her bed. She pulled the blanket off the top and wrapped herself in it, trying to warm up. When she made it to the bottom of the stairs, she saw Roy lighting the wood in the fireplace, changed and wrapped in his own blanket. She approached him cautiously, taking a seat not a foot away from him. With Roy, she knew she had nothing to worry about. "Are you really that mad with me?" she asked, her eyes set on the fire.

Roy heaved a sigh and pulled his blanket closer around himself. "No," he admitted. "I was being an ass."

"So was I."

"Let's just forget about it. Our stress just boiled over. No hard feelings?"

"None," Riza agreed, moving a little closer to the fireplace. After a few seconds, she added, "Sorry I called you useless."

"It's okay. Sorry I acted like a jerk."

"You know we still have to wring out and hang all of the towels and blankets, right?"

"Well, the floor got mopped, at least."

Riza shrugged, seeing his point.

"Hey, look." Roy pointed out the window. The sky was blanketed in a deep, melancholy grey. Riza didn't see the big deal until she noticed small specks of white sticking to the window. "Snow."

"Think it'll stick?" Riza asked, not knowing if she should get her hopes up. Most of the time, the snow just melted.

"Maybe. There's already a lot of ice on the ground. If it's cold enough for that, the snow might stay for a while." Roy noticed Riza's frown. "What?"

"I've had enough water for today."

"Today? Try my entire life." Roy grinned at his own joke. He stood up, taking the blanket with him. He walked to the coffee table, heaving the alchemical tome in one arm, his other holding the blanket and Riza's collection of letters. He handed it to her and sat back down, letting the tome fall to the floor carelessly. "Why do you read stuff like that?" He asked, looking at the cover. "What's the point in reading the letters of some dead lady?"

"There are words of wisdom to learn from. Listen: _We cannot tear out a single page of our life, but we can throw the whole book in the fire._ * Isn't that beautiful?" She watched Roy look down at his text and then at the fire, clearly contemplating. "It's not literal, Roy. Don't you dare."

"Words of wisdom my ass," he grumbled, opening the tome. "Can't even use them."

Riza shook her head. She knew he was being facetious, even if she didn't trust him not to set the book on fire. She didn't feel the need to explain the quote, aware that he understood its meaning. She read the quote to herself several more times before musing, "It would be kind of nice. To throw the book in the fire, I mean."

Roy looked up from his text. "Why do you say that?"

"I can't tear out pages. There are a lot of them that I wish weren't there. More than the ones I want to keep."

"You know, those good ones are going to keep coming. They'll outnumber the bad ones eventually."

"When?"

"I don't know. I mean, my presence is just a ray of sunshine into anyone's day, so that ought to speed it up a bit." His smugness was met with a light kick against his thigh.

"Narcissist."

"What, you mean that I don't radiate happiness and joy around me? I'm pretty sure that I do."

"That's not what I saw earlier when you were moping."

"Not fair." Roy returned her kick. "But really, though. Just give it time."

Riza let out a sigh, displeased at the reality of her situation. "I know. I just want to grow up and have my own life. I want to move away from this town and find a job that pays enough for me to study whatever I want. I don't want any of this anymore. I don't think I ever really did."

"You have more than this now. You know that my place is yours as much as yours is mine. You just found out about your grandfather. My family loves you. If you ask me, that's a lot of good pages."

Riza fell quiet before asking "What will you do when you leave here?"

"No." Roy reached over and pulled her over to his side, ruffling her hair as he did so. "None of that. We've had enough for one day."

Riza tried to swat his hand away with both of hers. "Okay, okay. You win."

"I'll make you happy or die trying, dammit." Roy let her go and watched as she tried to straighten her hair back out.

"I hope you know you're obnoxious."

Before Roy cold respond, there came a loud thud and a clang from the front porch. Riza walked to the door and picked up a shoe, assuming that it was some sort of small creature trying to get into the house. When she opened the door, she was startled to find a man laying face-down on the icy wood. Roy peered over her shoulder at the scene.

The man shoved the metal tub to the side before cautiously getting to his feet. His jacket covered the bruises forming on his forearms, and his hair disguised where he had a nasty run-in with the tub. He straightened his jacket, which was now two different shades of blue, thanks to the ice. After noticing themail children, he asked, "Is this the Hawkeye residence?"

Riza glared at the bars and stars adorning his jacket. She lifted her eyes for a moment to look at the man himself before closing the door in his face. Roy watched in surprise as she walked back over to the fireplace and sat down. A knock sounded on the door, and Roy reached for the doorknob.

"Don't," Riza ordered.

"Why?" Roy asked as the man knocked again.

"He's military. The military isn't welcome here. They should know that by now." Another knock. "Lock the door, would you?"

Roy did as he was told despite not understanding the reason. "What do you have against the military?"

"It's my father who holds a grudge. I know better than to ask why. Can we just leave it be?" She looked up from her book and over at Roy. "We just got back to a good place, remember?"

Roy took a moment to close the curtains which the man had started to look through. Before closing the second, he shook his head at the man from the other side, trying to tell him that he should give up. He, once again, joined Riza by the fireplace, trying to make sense of his own book.

_Take, then, of this liquid of the minerals which I have described, four parts by weight; of the Earth of red Sol two parts; of Sulphur of Sol one part. Put these together into a pelican, congelate, and dissolve them three times. Thus you will have the Tincture of the Alchemists_.**

"Is your dad still trying to test me or something?" he asked Riza, who was leaning against him with her back to his.

"No, I think he expects you to understand that level by now."

"Just wonderful."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Taken from a book of letters written by George Sand.
> 
> ** Taken from The Treasure of Treasures for Alchemists by Paracelcus, born Philippus Aureolus Theophrastus Bombastus von Hohenheim


	11. A Tale Told by an Alchemist

Roy's boots crushed down in the icy, brown slush covering the dirt road into town. Each step he took sent mud up the sides of his shoes, accompanied by an uncomfortable squelch. He grimaced and tried to shake some of the ground off of his left boot. Central was covered in a blanket of nice, pure snow. Yet here he was, covered in mud and ice. He turned up the collar of his jacket and lifted his eyes from the ground. Riza was several feet ahead of him, almost lost beneath her ill-fitting winter coat.

"Explain something to me. If Giribaz is only a bit more southern than Central, why does it have this crappy pseudo-winter?" Roy asked frustratedly as more mud clung to his boots.

"Because Central is several kilometers north of us, and we get the desert winds from the east." Riza slowed her pace until Roy caught up to her. "You may need to brush up on your geography."

"In what time?"

"We both know that you put off your studies until the last minute."

Roy looked at her with indignance. "I do not."

"This morning you ate breakfast, insisted that the steps needed clearing, and that the house needed sweeping. Roy, you watered the plants. The annual ones. In winter. And this was just before we left for town. I can only wonder what time we'll end up being back."

"Hey, not fair. All of that had to be done sooner or later -"

"Most of it later."

"and we need envelopes if we're ever going to write the sisters back."

"Which you could buy when you go to the post to send your letter." By this point, Riza was poking holes in his arguments just for fun. "You are the worst chronic procrastinator this country has ever seen. You need to do something about that."

"Eh, it can wait." He opened the door to the grocers before Riza could note the irony. They did their best to clean their boots on the mat by the door, but there was little that could be helped. Riza unbuttoned her coat and hung it on the rack by the door, while Roy stayed bundled up in his.

"Morning, you two!" A friendly voice called from behind the counter. Mr. Pratt was an older man, but ambiguously so. His grey hair and moustache aged him, but his face wasn't very wrinkled. The glasses he wore were thick, a result of his poor eyesight, but the frames were modern. Roy had given up trying to guess his age a few weeks after his arrival. This man was a puzzle even alchemists couldn't solve.

"Good morning, Mr. Pratt," Riza returned as she grabbed a wicker basket from beside the door. "Just here to pick up a few things."

"There isn't much. The snowstorms to the north and west stalled a few of our deliveries." Mr. Pratt nodded at his bare shelves. "Not much comes from the south in the winter."

"We'll make do," Riza assured him, thankful that there were at least a few things to be had. She pulled a large bag of rice off one of the shelves and quickly handed it to Roy.

"Why do we need this much rice?" Roy heaved the bag over one shoulder.

"It's cheap, it lasts, and all we need to make it is water," Riza explained as she scoured the shelves. "Who knows when we'll get anything back in stock here. It's not like the town is an economic priority like Central or East City." Canned vegetables began to find their way into her basket. Two jars of peanut butter followed. "Egg substitite," she explained, "or anything else we want it for."

Roy had to admit that he was impressed. He knew that she was savvy when it came to stretching a dollar, and it seemed now that she could make do in situations that would have Central citizens in a tizzy. Wanting to be helpful, he reached up to the back of the highest shelf and found a tin of tea, which he placed in the basket. Riza gave him a small smile of gratitude. She lead the way back to the counter and asked Mr. Pratt "Some matches and sugar, please."

The more expensive items were pulled from behind the counter and placed with the others. Mr. Pratt began to price out the goods. placing them back into the basket when he was done with them. Riza counted out her cens on the counter while he added her total together, her stomach dropping when she saw that she was short.

"Here, let me," Roy offered, reaching into his pocket.

"No," Riza said firmly. "That's your money. This comes out of the food budget, not anything Aunt Chris sends you."

"I'll just put the cens on your tab," Mr. Pratt offered, to which Riza nodded her assent.

"I'll pay you back as soon as I can," she promised, just like she did every time she ended up a little short.

"You always do," the grocer assured her, his smile lifting the corners of his moustache.

Roy watched as Riza lifted the basket and walked to the coat rack. When her back was turned, he dug five hundred cens out of his pocket and handed them to Mr. Pratt. He lifted his eyebrows, to which the older man mimed locking his lips together. Satisfied, Roy lifted the bag of rice back onto his shoulder and followed Riza out into the brisk, winter air. He jogged a few steps until he was by her side. "Where to next?"

"The post office, even if your letter may not go out for a few days," Riza warned.

"You know, when my sisters write 'Roy and Riza' on the envelope, they want you to send them a letter, too."

While Riza supposed that she should have known that was the case, she felt touched all the same. "I'll start doing that, then."

"Good. They keep asking me if I've pissed you off or something because they haven't heard from you." Roy rolled his eyes. When he pushed open the door to the post office, a bell rang just above the door.

Mrs. Edwards, a slender woman who was not yet thirty, appeared from the back room. She carried her daughter against her hip, fighting to keep hold as she squirmed about in her mother's arms. Mrs. Edwards sat the toddler down on the counter, where she extended both arms out to Riza and Roy.

"Morning, you two. What can I do for you?" the woman asked as she tied her thick, brown hair back behind her head.

"I need to mail a letter to Central," Roy explained. "I don't have an envelope or a stamp, though."

"I should have known," the woman said, giving him an amused grin. She began to search underneath the counter for what he needed.

Riza stood in front of the child, who had grasped both of Riza's thumbs in her small hands. Her black hair was cropped as short as Riza's. "Why did you cut her hair?" Riza asked the mother.

As Mrs. Edwards stood back up, she explained "Someone got into her father's chewing gum. I still have no idea how much she swallowed." She shook her head. "Paul swears he doesn't know how she did it, but he constantly loses the packet he keeps it in."

Roy handed his letter, sealed, addressed, and stamped, over the counter to Mrs. Edwards. When he tried to pay her, she waved her hand dismissively.

"You give us more business than anyone else in town. Besides, I can't guarantee when the letter will get there. So don't worry about it this time."

"Thank you, Mrs. Edwards," Riza and Roy choroused unintentionally. As Riza tried to take her thumbs back from the child, she began to wail. Riza picked her up, bouncing her up and down.

"It's okay, Alyssa. We'll be back soon, okay?" Riza soothed. Alyssa stopped crying, suddenly enamored with the bracelet around Riza's wrist. Her small hand wrapped around the silver chain, and Riza let her move her hand up for closer inspection. She walked behind the counter and handed Alyssa to her mother, letting her hold the bracelet as she did so. She slowly uncurled the child's fingers, which almost immediately wrapped around her mother's necklace. With a smile and a wave, Roy and Riza hurried out of the store before Alyssa could notice their absence.

"Did you ever finish that book by Paracelcus?" Riza asked, aware that he had been having a difficult time with the text.

"You mean _The Treasure of Treasures for Alchemists_ or _Alchemical Catechism_?"

"Either."

"Nope." Roy faltered under the stern, disapproving look he recieved. "I'm trying, I really am. I just can't get through this guy's wording. It's like he decided, a few hundred years ago, _hey, let's make this absolutely impossible to read just to drive Roy Mustang crazy_."

"I can guarantee you that isn't true." Riza shifted the hand she was using to carry the basket. "I'll tell you what. If you finish both of those books tonight, I'll make whatever you want for dessert."

Roy's eyes lit up. "Fudge?"

"Fudge. But that means you'll have to be patient."

"I can do that," Roy swore as though it was on his own life. "I won't even skim through the pages."

"I'm impressed," Riza laughed lightly. She shied away slightly when she felt something cold fall on her face. Lifting her gaze to the sky, the sensation continued. "Damn it!" she swore, using her free arm to cover the top of her head. "Why don't we own an umbrella?!"

"Because we don't think about buying one until it's raining," Roy explained as he lifted the bag of rice over his head in attempt at staying dry. "Now come on!"

The two children jogged through the freezing rain, their hair plastered down and running water down their faces. Even if they were closer to home than the town, both were freezing by the time they reached the cover of the front porch. As cold as she was, Riza took a seat on the bench and removed her boots, socks, and overcoat. Roy followed her lead, discarding anything he could that was wet or muddy.

"Leave the groceries," Riza ordered, rushing into the house. The two children hurried to the bathroom, trying to drip as little as possible onto the floors. Although the house was warmer, the tile floor was uninviting. Riza pulled the knob on the tub and plugged it, letting the first few inches fill with hot water. She winced as she placed her feet in, feeling pins and needles as she started to regain feeling in her toes.

Roy wasn't as cautious. He moved to Riza's side and, rather than placing his toes in the water, climbed into the tub fully clothed. When he saw Riza looking at him in disbelief, he explained his logic. "I'm already soaked. I can be soaked and cold, or soaked and warm." The water was high enough to cover his feet as he sat cross-legged, and he had enough room to place his hands in the water as well.

"I get it, but at the same time, I think you're insane," Riza admitted. She folded her chest over her knees so that she could warm her fingers. "I hate the winter," she complained. All of a sudden, she groaned and let her head hang. "We still have to go back outside and get everything."

Roy grimaced. "I'm not moving until I'm warm."

Riza spun around and placed her feet on the bath mat. After pulling a towel from the rack, she dried off her hands and feet. "Well, I'm not going to sit in wet clothes." She lifted the towel and rubbed it vigorously over her wet hair. "I'm going upstairs to find the warmest pyjamas I own." She set the towel by the tub for Roy to use. Her hand met the doorknob, and she steeled herself before opening the door. Upon feeling the colder air, she hissed through her teeth before rushing upstairs.

"Riza! The door!" Roy called after her, but she was already gone. A stream of curses poured from his mouth as he stood up, realizing his mistake of sitting in the water as all the warmth escaped from the room. Not taking time to dry himself off, he ran up the stairs as fast as he could, very nearly slipping when he reached the top. The door to his room slammed shut behind him.

* * *

Roy sat close to the fire, layered in clothes and blankets. _Alchemical Catechism_ lay closed on the floor in front of him. Riza leaned against the kitchen counter, a second copy of the text open in her left hand. She set it down so that she could stir the fudge, leaning over so that she could quiz Roy. The book was a series of questions and answers, making it fairly straightforward. " _What is the object of research among the Philosophers?"_ she asked, reading from the book.

Roy closed his eyes and frowned, taking a moment to think. " _Proficiency in the art of perfecting what Nature has left imperfect in the..."_ he hesitated, "metal? no... _mineral kingdom, and the attainment of the treasure of the Philosophical Stone_." He snapped his fingers and opened his eyes.

"Very good," Riza praised. "Now, _what is this stone?"_

" _The Stone is nothing else than the radical humidity of the elements, perfectly purified and educed into a sovereign fixation, which causes it to perform such great things for health, life being resident exclusively in the humid radical._

_"_ "Word for word. I'm impressed." Riza flipped through several pages, coming to the last handful. "Speed test: _When must the Philosopher begin his enterprise?"_

_"At the moment of daybreak, for his energy must never be relaxed."_

_"When may he take his rest?"_

_"When the work has come to its perfection."_

_"What is the age of a Philosopher?"_

_"From the moment of his researches to that of his discoveries, the Philosopher does not age."_

Riza shut the book and looked over at Roy. "Very nice. I think it's safe to say that you understand Paracelsus." Her smile was wide and approving. She stifled a laugh when Roy jumped up, abandoning his blankets as he sped into the kitchen.

"That means I get fudge, right?" he asked eagerly, peering over her shoulder at the stove.

"You do once it sets. I thought it was going to take you longer than it did. Do you see what happens when you set your mind to something?"

"You mean when I'm bribed?" He reached over Riza's shoulder toward the pot.

Riza smacked his hand with her spoon. "If that's the case, you really need to fix your work ethic. And don't touch that; you'll scald yourself." She lifted the pot from the stove and began to pour the contents into a baking pan. Roy remained one step behind her, watching her. When she moved to place the pot in the sink, Roy remained in front of the pan. "You aren't going to make it set any faster by staring at it."

"I can try." Roy pondered the situation. "Maybe I could use alchemy to speed it up..."

"Out," Riza commanded as she swung her spoon in his direction. "Out of the kitchen. We've had to repair it once already this winter. I'm not dealing with a botched experiment on fudge."

Roy retreated backwards, avoiding her swing. He lifted both of his hands, palms out. "Alright, alright. I won't use any alchemy."

Riza held out her hand in front of him. "Chalk."

'What?"

"Give me your chalk."

Roy huffed and pulled a piece out of his pocket. He placed it in the palm of her hand. When she continued to look at him, he reached into his other pocket, retrieving another piece. Riza tapped her foot, giving him a look that said _don't make me get it myself._ He relented, handing her the pack from his back pocket. "Happy now?"

"Yes." Riza tucked the loose pieces into the carton.

"You know, I'm older than you. And I'm bigger than you. You should be listening to me."

Riza ticked her arguments off on her fingers. "You're older than me by two years. Add in emotional maturity of boys compared to girls, I am theoretically older than you are by a year. Secondly, you're taller than me by maybe two inches, on a good day. We both know we've been bouncing back and forth on that one almost every month."

Roy squared his shoulders in a subconscious attempt to make himself taller. "Well, theories and technicalities don't count."

Riza smirked in a way similar to Roy's, and he found it unnerving. "Aren't theories and technicalities a large part of alchemy?"

"Gah!" Roy threw his hands up. "Fine. I won't touch the fudge until it's set." He turned his back and walked to the couch, taking a seat on the arm.

"That's all I wanted." Riza slipped past him and brought her copy of the text back to the shelf. She trailed her finger over the spines of each book until she found what she was looking for. "Now, let's see how well you understood _The Treasure of Treasures for Alchemists_."

Roy let out a groan so pained that he might have been dying. He let himself fall back onto the couch, his legs hanging over the arm. Riza looked over at him and rolled her eyes. "I think you missed your calling as an actor."

"You could be a little kinder to someone who's dying," Roy protested, staying where he was.

"Dead men don't get fudge."

Roy bolted upright. "Don't even play like that. You're cruel, Riza Hawkeye."

Riza chose to ignore the comment, busying herself by turning the pages of the book. She sat down in her usual chair and tucked her legs beneath her before saying "Explain the tincture to me."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The italics are direct quotes from the source text.


	12. One Week

Spring brought with it a thin, dry heat, breathing life back into the town. The trees began to regain their leaves, and the grass poked its head from underneath the thick layer of winter mud. Water left over from snow and ice was quickly sucked into the desert air, over-saturating its thirst, and poured back down to the earth as drops of rain. Sunny days became a relief. Even though the rains would last only as long as it took to balance the climate, they were plentiful.

Roy was sequestered to the porch while practicing his alchemy, a caution advised by his aunt in a postscript to a letter addressed to him and Riza. Berthold had given him a few more liberties in his studies. He was allowed to work with a chosen material for a set amount of time with the expectation that he master it before his time was up. At dawn on the first day of the week, his master had dropped a box noisily on Roy's bedroom floor. "One week." Those were the only words spoken to him.

The box, which contained a small book and several pounds worth of iron, sat to his left side. Roy had worked with iron before, but only on rare occasions. It was difficult to work with, and it was made worse when he realized he had no idea what Berthold wanted him to do with it. Even Riza was of no help in solving the puzzle.

"I don't have a clue," she admitted after being asked. "I've never seen him do this to a student before."

Roy turned a large chunk of iron over in his hand, with half a mind to throw it through the glass of the study window. He let out a sound somewhat like a growl before exchanging the metal for the book. He had read it, cover to cover, twice already. It broke the metal down into its most basic components, talked about which elements it could and could not combine with, and gave a brief history of its alchemical discovery. That is to say, he found it absolutely useless. Roy threw the book back into the box before leaning back against the wall of the house. He had wasted two days like this, and he couldn't afford to lose any more.

When he sat back up, he pulled a piece of chalk out of his pocket. He deftly sketched out a transmutation circle on the wood before him. After he paused to examine his work, he reached into the box and pulled out the smallest piece of iron he could find. The metal joined the circle, and Roy took a few moments, staring at them both. He reached out and touched the circle.

Blue light emanated around the iron, and it changed shape far more quickly than Roy had anticipated. He shifted it into a sphere and removed his hands. Maybe the endless tasks his master had for him were working. Iron was a stubborn substance, and he was a stubborn kid. For the first time, it bent easily to his will. He couldn't help the wide grin that spread across his face. He held up the ball and examined it, noticing how much it looked like...

Roy launched himself to his feet and ran inside the house, startling a preoccupied Riza. Her cup of tea nearly fell from her hand and, despite saving the cup, she spilled some on the floor. "What did you come barging in here like that for?" she demanded as she bent to dry the floor with a rag.

"Coal!" Roy exclaimed, searching the sitting room frantically. He raced into the kitchen, opening every cabinet without bothering to close them. In the cupboard closest to the front door, he found a small box of it, which he scooped up. Just as quickly as he arrived, he was gone. Puzzled, Riza followed him out onto the porch.

Roy scrubbed away the previous circle with his forearm. He took no time to think as he began drawing its replacement: a far more detailed rendition. Riza watched him work as he added pieces of coal and iron to the middle of the circle, and she wondered if his confidence was a sign of genius or mania. With his special brand of cocksure impulsiveness, Roy brought his hands to the circle. A flash of blue light blinded them both for a moment. When their sight came back, both children realized that the metal in the circle was clearly different than before. Riza smiled and clapped her hands together, but her congratulations were cut short when Roy hung his head.

"What's wrong? You fused them, right?" Riza sat down on the wood beside Roy.

"Yeah, but I wanted steel. This is cast iron. They're made with the same metals, but I got the proportions wrong." Roy examined the new metal, frowning in frustration and disappointment. "I thought that maybe, if I could refine the iron, your dad would take that as progress."

Riza pulled the box of iron over to her so that she could look inside. "There's still a handful of pieces in here. That's plenty to work with."

"We don't have enough coal," he pointed out dejectedly, waving his hand at the other box.

"We'll get more." Riza nudged him with her shoulder, trying to cheer him up. "Isn't fusing them both an accomplishment on its own? I've never seen you do something like that before."

"I guess." Roy frowned. "But I still don't have a damned clue what he wants! Is making steel even close?" He feigned tearing at his hair in frustration.

"What have you been reading about recently? Maybe there's a clue there."

"The elements. Water, fire, earth, and whatnot. It's all been broad-concept." Roy closed his eyes as he tried to recall. "I can't see how any of that would work here. Iron isn't going to suddenly change categories."

Riza huffed, clueless herself. "Sorry I can't help more. Would a tea make it easier?"

Roy shook his head. "I'm fine. You go back inside - it's too wet out here. You'll catch a cold."

"I could say the same for you," Riza retorted as she opened the door. Roy remained on the porch, staring at his circle and wondering what he did wrong.

* * *

The next three days passed in monotony. Roy remained on the porch, transcribing theories and ideas in a notebook before attempting a transmutation. The rain continued to fall, and the porch was a minefield of pooled water. Careful not to sit in any of them, Roy took his precautions. An ottoman became a semi-permanent fixture, and Roy was almost fixed on top of it. Each day, Riza would bring him his lunch and usher him inside for dinner, aware that he would stay outside all night if he could.

After the sun had risen enough to provide light, Roy sat down for his fifth day of torment. He had resigned himself to failure. He would pack his bags and get on the next train to Central in two days, when Berthold deemed him an unfit pupil. He would try to become someone's apprentice, perhaps study under one of the tradesmen in the city. If, by the time he was eighteen, he still found himself completely useless, there was always the military. He could pass the physical test, he was sure. They would teach him what he would need to know in the academy. If he wasn't of any use there, he supposed he could become a vagrant.

Trapped in these negative thoughts, Roy reached out for the box of iron he had accidentally left on the porch overnight. He fell headlong into his despair when he saw that, due to his negligence, water had made its way among the metal. Rust coated every piece he had left. _No_ , he pleaded to anyone who might listen. He examined each piece individually, his hands stained as he clutched the rust-coated iron. With a yell of frustration, he threw the pieces in his hands back into the bucket.

Riza stood in the doorway, stopped in her tracks when Roy turned to look at her. "Rust," he lamented, completely hopeless. "Every single piece. It's all rust." He had failed. Master Hawkeye might kick him out that very day for all he knew. His fourteen-year-old concept of machismo kept him from tears, swallowing them down as he hung his head.

Riza stiffened as she heard footsteps approaching her from behind. She moved from the doorway and shrunk back against the wall as her father passed her by. Roy looked at his feet as his master approached, knowing what was going to happen next.

Berthold looked down into the box. His eyes were expressionless, as usual, and his lips were drawn into a thin line. Slowly, he bent down and took a piece in his hand, bringing it to his face for examination. Carelessly, he loosened his fingers and let the iron fall back into the box. When he looked at Roy, the boy wouldn't meet his gaze or look in his direction. One gaunt arm reached out toward Roy, who braced himself for a slap. To his surprise, the hand landed on his shoulder in a single clap. Mistrustful, Roy remained braced until he heard his master's footsteps receeding. Cautiously, he opened his eyes to find Riza looking at him in wary confusion.

Roy walked to her side, closing the door to the porch behind him. Both children watched Berthold as he skimmed the books on the shelf, pulling one he deemed worthy. He tossed it onto the coffee table before pinning Roy with his gaze. "Four days," he declared before turning and heading back to his study. It wasn't until the door clicked that the children relaxed.

"What the hell was that?" Roy flopped down onto the couch, resting his head in his hands. "I thought he was going to kill me. Kick me out. Hell, he still might. Oh, God." _I screwed up so bad that Master Hawkeye didn't know what to do with me._

Riza sat by his side and placed a reassuring hand on his upper back. With her other hand, she reached for the book her father had chosen. " _On Combustion: A Treatise,_ " she read aloud, turning the book in her hand so she could look at the back.

Roy lifted his head and stared off at nothing. He remained like this for several moments, and Riza started to become worried. "That's it," he whispered. He threw his head back and began to laugh uproariously. "I don't know how the hell I was supposed to know it, but luck helped me out on this one!"

Riza began to doubt his sanity. Trying to figure out what he was talking about, she opened the book to the table of contents. She scanned the sections for a clue. When Roy stopped laughing, she asked, "So rust is a type of slow-combustion reaction?"

"I let the iron get wet, exposing it to the oxygen in the water. The iron oxide it made produces heat. It's a lot slower than fire, for example, but it's just as hot over the longer period of time."

Riza nodded. "And so it ties back to your elemental reading."

"Yep. Earth is iron, water is, well, water, and the result was a sort of fire."

"I kind of feel like we should have been able to figure that out..."

"Eh," Roy shrugged. "I should have split the water and oxidized the iron faster, but what's done is done. I'm just lucky it wasn't my ass this time."

"I'm not so sure that would have been the way to go. Pulling hydrogen from oxygen could mess with the air as well as the water."

Roy pondered this for a moment. "Yeah, you're probably right." He looked at the large clock beside the fireplace. "It's still morning. I planned on despairing over a transmutation circle for two more days. What should we do?"

"You should probably start reading this," Riza placed the book in his hands. "The four days Father gave you start now, not in two days." She expected him to argue against her, and she was surprised when he didn't.

Roy obediently took the text and opened it, reading it with an intensity that Riza hadn't seen before. From the first few lines, he was completely engrossed. He showed no notice when Riza left the couch, and the only time he moved was when she alerted him to dinner.

* * *

"Master Hawkeye?" Roy inquired as he knocked on the study door. He dared to crack it open, at which point his master turned to look at him with tired eyes. Roy wondered how long it had been since he last slept. "I finished the text you gave me," he piped up, suddenly feeling the need to explain his presence.

Berthold made a noise of acknowledgement. The chair scraped across the wooden floor as he stood, and he walked on unsteady legs to one of his many bookcases. He pulled from the shelf a thick tome, three times the size of the book Roy held. When the text was extended to him, Roy took it without hesitation.

"Master Hawkeye?" Berthold turned to look at Roy, already having forgotten that he was here. "I thought I was going to get another experiment like the rust one; something to do with combustion."

Berthold barked a laugh that could have been a cough. "Foolish boy," he hissed as he lowered himself back into his seat. "You don't really think I would let you play with fire, do you? Oxygen, maybe? Ha. This arrogance is what kills alchemists. You'll do as I say or leave my tutelage."

"Yes, Master Hawkeye." Roy inclined his head to Berthold before backing out of the study. After the door closed behind him, he let his disappointment show. He thought that he was finally progressing in his studies, that he could experiment more. Yet here he was, stuck with another book to read. At least, this time, he hadn't been given a deadline.

He tossed the book carelessly onto the kitchen table, causing Riza to look up from her own. When he turned to face her, he declared, "I'm done with studying for today. Let's go do something."

"What did you have in mind?" Riza asked as she marked her page.

Roy shrugged. "Something fun. I was going to suggest hitchhiking to Irsukya, but-"

"There isn't a single soul heading toward Irsukya." Riza finished for him. Any contact with the neighboring towns was rare. "And that's aside from the chance of being kidnapped."

"Who would kidnap us?"

"Drachmen, according to your sister."

Roy rolled his eyes. "Yeah, right."

"Jessica wrote it all out for me in her letter. She says that you're built to do heavy labor, and that I'm, and I quote 'too pretty to not be careful'. I'll take the compliment, but..."

" _Riza_!" Berthold's voice thundered down the hallway. Riza tensed, curling her hands into fists by her sides. Her heart rate continued to speed up, and she make a physical effort to swallow her nervousness. Roy would have gone so far as to call it terror. Unwilling to face the repercussions of being called a second time, she slipped past Roy and down the hall to her father's study.

Roy watched as she stood in the doorway. She nodded, spoke, and shifted in place. It seemed like ages before she made any sort of substantial movement. When she stepped inside the study, Roy took an unconscious step forward. Before he could advance further, she had reappeared. She remained in the hallway, facing the open door for several moments before she reached out to close it. She walked back toward Roy, utter confusion showing on her face. Before he could ask, she began her explanation.

"Father says he needs some... expletive... peace and quiet. He told me that we need to get out of his hair for a few days and gave me this envelope." Riza handed it over to Roy, unsure of what it was or what to do with it. "I know he must be on the verge of a breakthrough, but he's never done something like this before." She had to admit that she was a little worried.

Roy slipped a finger underneath the seam and tore the paper open, gawking at what he saw inside. "I'm pretty sure he just gave you my tuition for the month." He doubted that this was intentional. How could Master Hawkeye be so mentally absent as to make such a mistake?

"No, that can't be right," Riza protested, peering inside the envelope.

"I'm going to give this back to him," Roy decided. "Better get yelled at for disturbing him than for keeping this."

It was Riza's turn to look on as Roy approached her father's study. She admired how he wasn't afraid to approach his master. She knew that he was just as afraid of her father as she was, but he did a good job of not letting it show. The exchange was brief. Roy opened the door and said something, her father growled a response, and Roy quickly shut the door. As he approached Riza, he shrugged.

"What did he say?"

"To make it short, he said to just take it and stop bothering him."

"... That's a paraphrase, isn't it?"

"Yep," Roy nodded as he pulled the money from the envelope and began counting it. He knew his aunt's bar was lucrative, but he had no idea she could afford such an expense without, at least apparently, much effort. "Damn. Won't have to hitchhike anywhere with this."

"We're not going to be frivolous with it, either." Riza took the envelope from him. "Even if he fully expects us to spend it, some of it needs to be tucked away for when we come up short on what we need later."

"Okay. Frugal. We can work with that."

"Grandfather was transferred to East City, according to Aunt Chris. We could pay him a visit."

Roy was impressed that she was more open to Grumman, to the point that she was the one to suggest the visit. "That works for me. I've never been to East City before. Well, more than the train station, anyway."

"I'll give him a call if the phone will work. But I need you to pretend like you're talking to me. I only have his military line, and if Father finds out our plan, he'll be furious. We're going to need a good cover story, too."

"I've got your back."


	13. Where in the World Is General Grumman?

Riza ran her thumb over their train tickets, studying them as if she would find some understanding on the pieces of paper. When Grumman insisted that he call ahead and reserve their train tickets, it was logical to assume that they would be headed to East City. After seeing that this was not their final destination, Roy mentioned that perhaps it was cheaper to buy the tickets to another city and to get off at the East City station. They both looked on in surprise as the train blew straight through the station. The cynical side of Riza served her well as a survival mechanism, but it had her thinking the worst. If her grandfather didn't want them to visit, he could have said so rather than giving them the runaround. The book in her hands did little to ease her mind, and she gradually came to convince herself that this was the case. She swept her thumb over the name of their destination, printed on the ticket which served as her bookmark.

Roy, assuming that their journey would be far shorter than it was, had brought very little to do along with him. He had already given up on the latest text which Berthold ordered him to study. His excuse was that the motion of the train made him ill if he tried to read. After this decision, he had tried his best to make Riza pay attention to him. Despite his best efforts, the only reaction he was able to recieve was her telling him that he should be studying. When verbal and physical annoyance did nothing to faze her, he settled for taking over the majority of her bench seat. His feet were crossed at the top of the backrest, and his head lolled toward the floor. He groaned, drawing the sound out for several seconds. A quick glance at Riza showed no reaction. He groaned a second time, louder than the first. Riza turned the page of her book. When he began to groan again, Riza gave him a quick shove with her foot, causing him to waver and almost fall out of his precarious sitting position. Well, at least it was something.

"How much further?" Roy inquired, looking at Riza upside-down. He knew he was annoying her, but he honestly wasn't trying to. He was bored to tears, and she had been silent for most of the train ride. Something was wrong, and she wasn't saying anything. They were the only ones in the compartment, yet she refused to let him in. This aggravated him to no end. He had become accustomed to a level of conversational intimacy with her that neither of them shared with anyone else. At the root, he was hurt, even if he didn't acknowledge it.

"I don't know." Riza kept her eyes on her book.

"Okay, but why would he send us all the way to Risembool in the first place?"

"Like I said, I don't know."

Roy twisted himself around so that he was sitting upright. "Talk to me." He had half a mind to take her book from her when she turned another page. "Riza Hawkeye, something is wrong and you aren't telling me what it is. Don't treat me like I'm stupid. Now talk."

Riza marked her page with the train ticket in her hand. She set the book aside and looked at Roy with eyes full of fire. "You want to know? You want to know how idiotic I feel for trusting someone I just met? For letting somebody in? Trusting them?" Her words dripped like poison. "I'm a damned fool and I know it. I should have learned my lesson by now. I took a chance and all it's done is turn around and bite me in the ass. Now we're stuck on a train, headed to God knows where, because I thought someone out there might just give enough of a shit about me not to screw me over." She ignored Roy's wide-eyed concern and continued. "I'm angry. I'm angry at myself because I know better. I was too trusting, and look what happened. For all I know, Aunt Chris and Bea are the same way. I opened myself up in Central and look what it's done!"

Roy took advantage of her pause, interjecting, "You trust me, though. And I haven't done anything like that."

"Yet," Riza spat bitterly.

Her word shot through him like a bullet to the heart. Unable to keep the pain out of his voice, he dared to ask, "Is that really what you think about me?"

Riza saw the hurt on his face, and she crumbled. She balled her hands into fists and placed them against her forehead. "No, I..." She shook her head back and forth. "I didn't... God, why am I so stupid?!"

Roy took hold of her hands and lowered them. "Look at me," he said firmly. When Riza reluctantly met his gaze, he ordered, "Stop it. Don't talk about yourself that way. None of it's true." Seeing that she was about to protest, he cut her off. "You're worth so much more than that. And I'm not going anywhere."

After a moment's hesitation, Riza nodded her head slowly. He was still looking at her. She hated when he looked at her like that, as if he saw all the way to her soul. She faltered. Her shoulders slumped and her hands relaxed. "Okay," she murmured, lowering her eyes. She knew he was right. Even though she didn't believe a word of what he said on her own, when he spoke like that, she knew that he was speaking the truth as he saw it. She looked up when she felt Roy's arm drape across her shoulders, and, when he moved closer to her, she let him. He was the only person who she allowed inside her personal space.

"I get it." Riza leaned back to look at Roy when he spoke. "You have every right to be scared. I would be. All we can do is prove to you that not everyone's like your dad. But for us to do that, you have to let us in a little bit. Not just me, either."

Riza nodded once and chose to rest her head against him. The silence that followed was more comforting to her than his words. She could hear the steady thump of his heartbeat, and she let her breath follow the rhythm. It was a simple reminder that she was alive. The thought terrified her, but, for the first time, she didn't let it take her. Her fear of living, she wondered, perhaps came from fear of solitude. Realizing that she was becoming philosophical, she chased away her thoughts; if she stayed with them too long, the fear would return. She settled with the fact that, in this moment, she was simply, without force or obligation, happy to exist, with all the ups and downs that entailed.

* * *

The train's shrill whistle brought Riza out of her meditation, rudely bringing her back to the world. She straightened up and looked out the window. Their speed had slowed considerably, judging by how quickly the fence posts passed by. Other than those spaced markers, there was virtually nothing but farmland. She found comfort in the familiar scenery; their return trip would have them disembarking in an almost identical area. As had become their custom, Roy gathered their bags while Riza grabbed any possessions they had taken out during the ride. With their forward planning, the two children were able to shuffle through the corridors as soon as the train stopped, avoiding the crowd. Riza was one step ahead of Roy, who was acting as a buffer between her and the rest of the passengers trying to disembark. Slipping through the bottleneck, they found a space on the platform to catch their breath.

Roy looked over Riza's head with surprise and confusion. He tried to process what he saw, but the only words that came to him were "What up with the sheep?"

Riza turned to follow his gaze, quirking an eyebrow when she saw what he was talking about. Despite living around farmland, she had never seen so many sheep in her life. She thanked luck that they were far enough away that they couldn't smell the animals. "I... have no idea."

The pair turned their heads in unison as one of the cargo doors screeched open, followed by an outpouring of sheep of all sizes. Two black and white dogs kept them grouped together, herding them according to the whistled commands of their master.

"Amazing animals, aren't they?"

Riza turned around to face her grandfather while Roy merely looked over his shoulder. The old man was dressed in his military uniform, complete with a cap that tried its best to contain his wild, grey hair. Riza smiled to herself, holding onto the joy she felt when her assumptions proved wrong. Before she could say anything, Roy spoke up.

"Yeah, it's impressive that the dogs are able to move and react like that without much direction."

"Well, yes, but I was talking about the sheep." The general chuckled. "This festival's about them, after all."

"What are we doing here, grandfather?" Riza made an involuntary face when she saw a man wearing a headband with sheep's ears.

"We're here for the annual Sheep Festival, of course. I'm here to show the military's support of the local farmers. Well, that's the official reason. I've been coming to the festival for the last ten years. After all, there's no festival quite like the ones in Risembool!" Grumman walked down the wooden steps, grinning like a Cheshire cat. "There's plenty to entertain the two of you for days. We'll be here until Friday, after all."

Roy looked over at Riza, his face contorted in a dramatic presentation of horror. Riza stuck a hand in his face and lightly pushed it away. She could tell that this festival, for whatever reason, was important to her grandfather. She, at least, was going to do her best to enjoy it. It took a few jogged steps for her to catch up with Grumman; Roy remained on the platform, in shock, until he had to run to catch up.

"And over there's where the merchants set up. So many people come through during the festival that it draws in anyone who has something to sell." Grumman pointed to the east, and then moved his hand a bit to the south. "That's where we'll be staying. The townsfolk take it upon themselves to let me stay in one of their homes each year. I'm beginning to suspect that they draw lots to see who has the displeasure." His moustache twitched as he laughed, appreciating his own humor.

Riza studied the house at the end of the path. The white paint looked like it has been recently touched up. The grass was trimmed and flowers bloomed in a garden by the door. Even the fence was repaired and freshly painted. It was a beautiful home, one she wished she could have for herself. When Grumman opened the front door unannounced, she suddenly felt uncomfortable. She hesitated in the doorway until a brown haired woman with kind eyes peered from around a wall further down the hallway. "Please, come in," the woman insisted with a smile.

Riza walked into the hall and began to remove her shoes by the doormat. The last thing she wanted was to be seen as rude. Roy joined her, whereas Grumman continued walking down the hall. "Are those the children?" the woman asked, moving out into the corridor. She was drying her hands on the bottom of her apron, which hung, untied, down to her thighs.

"The blonde-haired girl is my granddaughter, Riza." Grumman nodded towards her. She had just finished putting her shoes away, and she had enough time to smile at the brunette before her grandfather moved on. "The boy is Chris's son, Roy. My future grandson." Grumman chuckled at Roy's sudden, visible embarrassment, which was made worse when the woman joined in on his laughter.

"It's a pleasure to meet you both." The woman bowed ever so slightly. "My name's Trisha. You'll be staying with us while the festival is going on."

"Yes, we've had the misfortune of gaining the general's company this time around." Roy nearly jumped out of his skin when he saw a man standing beside him, outside a room that he had failed to notice. The figure was tall and broad-shouldered, but his face juxtaposed his physique. A pair of glasses perched on his nose, and his golden hair was pulled tightly back. His beard was long, yet surprisingly straight. The grin he wore was contagious. "It was only a matter of time before I had to open my home to this geezer."

"I'm not all that much older than you, mind." Grumman retorted. "I can still drink you under the table, too, Van. Be careful who you call a geezer."

Roy had long since stopped paying attention to the conversation. Through the open door, he was able to determine that the room from which the man appeared was an alchemic study, the nicest he had ever seen. It was smaller than Berthold's, but it was far more organized and, from what he could see, complete. Overcome by his curiosity, he took an involuntary step toward the room, only to be caught by the arm. Riza held his forearm back with one hand, giving him a look that said _don't you dare._

Roy turned away from the study, brought back to the present by her glare. He was relieved to see that no one had been paying attention to him. Riza moved her hand away and turned to the adults to speak. "Would you mind showing us to our rooms? We'd like to spend some time exploring." Roy couldn't remember agreeing to this.

"You two go on ahead. We can take your bags up for you." The blond man suggested.

Riza wasted no time in putting on her shoes again. "Thank you, sir." She practically pulled Roy out the door before he had a chance to tie his laces. When the door shut behind them, Grumman sighed longingly.

"Oh, to be young and blindly in love."

Van Hohenheim clapped him on the back. "You argue that you're young one moment and reminisce that you're old the next. You're an interesting one, general."

"I try my best." Grumman's eyes shone with mischief.

"Teasing the children like that's not all that kind, is it?" Trisha gave her houseguest a disapproving look.

"Perhaps not. But I'm willing to wager that you'll do the same by the time we leave."

"The last wager you made left you drunk as a skunk and penniless when Pinnako drank you both under the table," Trisha remarked, looking back and forth at the two men.

"That's right!" Grumman hit the upturned palm of his hand with his fist, spinning to face his friend. "I promised her a rematch. She's not going to get the best of me this time!"

* * *

"What the hell was that about?" Roy demanded. He knelt in the dirt at the end of the path, tying his shoes. The frown on his face wasn't his usual, playful exaggeration. "We just got there. Hell, I had barely taken off my shoes."

"I'm sorry." Riza swung her feet from where she sat on the fence. "I panicked. I thought about Father and what he would have done were that his study. I was so focused on not being rude and not getting in trouble that I just blanked."

Roy straightened up and brushed his pants off. He found it hard to be annoyed with her; he could only imagine what reaction Master Hawkeye would have had, and she would have been smart to act that way if they were at home. Cracking his neck, he placed his hands in his pockets and looked up. "So what are we gonna do now? We can't just walk back in without explaining what happened."

"Grandfather said that there was plenty to do at the festival." Riza jumped down from the fence and began to walk backwards down the road and away from Roy.

"Yeah. A festival full of sheep." Roy followed after her, keeping their distance the same as they went. "We can go look at sheep. We could go sheepgazing. Or, hell, we might be lucky enough to see a lamb."

"Hush," Riza said without thinking, rather than making the sound itself. "What do you suggest, then, Mr. Sarcasm?"

"I mean, if you're so sheep-adverse, we could go to the market. But let me warn you, there might be sheep there, too."

"Roy." Riza's tone had the annoyed lilt to it that he was hoping for. When she turned her back to him, he seized his chance.

"What? I'm just saying that sheep could be lurking anywhere. They're evil, you know. Those beady little black eyes have no soul inside them. I wouldn't want you to be caught by surprise, after all." As he spoke, he gradually caught up with her. "They might... getcha!" His hands shot out and caught her by the shoulders.

Riza turned her head so that she could see him and arched an eyebrow. "I know you're not an idiot, but sometimes I wonder."

Roy huffed, removing his hands. "You're not fun," he complained.

"No, it's just that I'm not afraid of sheep. Like most people. You had so many other routes you could have taken, but you went with sheep. I'm disappointed in you."

"I don't know, I just sort of ran with it." Roy looked to the side and saw nothing but farmland. "There's not much to play off of here. Give a guy a little credit for trying."

"Alright," Riza relented, shaking her head despite her smile. "But no more sheep ghost stories. That's just an insult to the good ones."

"There are _good_ sheep ghost stories?" Roy ducked when Riza made a swipe for the back of his head. He took off running, Riza hot on his heels, their laughter echoing down the road.


	14. Idiotic

The cens were burning a hole in Roy's pocket, begging to be spent. He had vastly underestimated the attraction of the festival. The marketplace housed many colorful tents and canopies, which served to shade the merchants and their products. Voices chattered in Xerxian, Cretan, Aerugonian, and he even thought he picked up a little Drachman. A sharp whistle cut through it all, signaling the start of a nearby event. The crowd began to trickle out, leaving about half its people behind. He couldn't understand why so many people found the festival interesting for reasons other than the market and sheepdogs, but he figured that it was better for him this way. Riza didn't like large crowds, and he had a better vantage point to look at the exotic wares on display.

Riza had moved on to the next booth without his notice. She gingerly brushed her fingers along a decorated piece of Xingese silk, her breath caught in her throat. When Roy placed his hand on his shoulder, she jerked her arm back. Exhaling, she placed her hand over her heart, relieved that she hadn't done something wrong. That fabric was more expensive than her entire wardrobe. "You scared me," she scolded.

"Didn't mean to." Roy peered over her shoulder. "Thinking about buying it?"

Riza shook her head. "No. As much as I'd like to have something like it, I don't know how to work with the material. You know, if I could even afford it in the first place. And besides, I can't think of anything I would do with it. It's pretty, but it's not practical."

"Not everything has to be useful."

"It does at that price."

Roy tilted his head slightly to the side, deciding that she had a point. He reached over her into a box full of thin scraps of the fabric and pulled out a fistful. It didn't take long for him to sift through them, and he pulled one apart from the rest. The ribbon was a rich burgundy with gold ornamentation. With a deft hand, he tied the strip into a hairband as Riza looked at him. "There. Cheaper, no work required, and a purpose."

Riza narrowed her eyes, which were very nearly the same color as the silk. "Why do you always have to find a way around what I say?"

"It's fun," Roy countered as he passed the merchant his fee. "I'm just surprised you didn't think about it." He stuck his hands in his pockets and bent forward, bringing his face level to hers.

Riza rolled her eyes dramatically. "Has anyone told you that you're annoying?"

"Yes. You. About three times a week." Roy straightened up and threw an arm around her shoulders. He led her to the next booth, which exhibited several strange types of food. Even if he would never say it out loud, he was enjoying himself by just standing to the side and watching Riza. Her face was incredibly expressive when she didn't have her guard up; he had a theory that she didn't have a clue about it. Yes, he was being greedy in his enjoyment of their time together, but he couldn't care less. There was nothing wrong with enjoying his friend's company, after all. Riza made no move to shrug his arm off, and this fact made him smirk like the devil.

After examining the various - oddities was still too tame a word - Riza decided that she'd rather not be swayed by the merchant's prompting. He didn't get the hint after she refused samples of various candied insects. Taking matters into her own hands, she slipped out from underneath Roy's arm and moved away from the booth. Before Roy's arm could come to a stop, she had laced her fingers in his. He allowed himself to be pulled to the next stall. Riza shuddered when she stopped. "Nothing in the world could make me eat things like that."

Roy grinned down at her. "Don't worry. I don't think you will have a life where you need to eat bugs. You should be safe." He let his hand hang down between them, still intertwined with hers.

" _Tiens_!"

Riza looked over her shoulder for the source of the call, and her face brightened when she saw the familiar figure. "M. Pierre!" She dropped Roy's hand and rushed over to the man. Pierre caught her under her arms and spun her in a circle, letting her down after one turn.

"If you get bigger, I won't be able to do that anymore." Pierre clapped her on the shoulders. "What are you doing here, _ma petite_? Don't tell me you've run away from home with that young man." The blonde-haired man let his eyes flick to Roy, who was walking over to join them.

"No, no, it's not that at all," Riza protested, her tone matching the playfulness of her companion's. "We're here visiting my grandfather, who's here for the festival."

Roy gave them a bit of distance, noticing their resemblance for the first time. Had Riza's eyes been blue rather than her firey amber, she could easily pass for his daughter. Her hair was off by a few shades, but that didn't really matter. He watched as Pierre ruffled Riza's hair, and he listened to her laugh. Not for the first time, he felt anger well in the pit of his stomach. He doubted that Berthold had ever been so kind to his daughter. It seemed like the world loved her, but she was still so afraid.

" _Ma cherie,_ where did you get this?" Pierre lifted her hand so that he could study the bracelet around her wrist.

"Roy made it for me as a birthday gift," she explained, looking over at him. She smiled, and he couldn't help but smile back at her. He took this as an invitation to walk over to join them.

" _C'est joli._ You are very talented." Pierre extended his hand to Roy. "We didn't meet last time. I was too busy defending my prices!" He punctuated his statement with a laugh. "Pierre."

"Roy." Roy reached out and shook the man's hand. There was something about his demeanor that made Roy think that Pierre would be fun to be around. "Thank you for the compliment. I still have a long way to go, to be honest."

"Honesty is a valuable quality." Pierre placed a hand on each of their backs and began to lead them. "Come, sit for a while. Let me feed you something more appetizing than what is on display here."

"Sir, that's not necessary," Roy protested. He was trying to be polite, yes, but he also wanted to continue their shopping trip alone. Riza had hardly looked at him since she became distracted.

"Please." Pierre gestured for the children to seat themselves on a wooden bench behind his stall. He then turned his head and called out in Cretan, peppering his speech with a bit of Amestrian slang.

"I'm comin'!" A blonde teenager trudged over to them, stopping to pull a box from the back of a cart. Roy looked at him with appraisal. He was tall, very tall. His shaggy blonde hair fell down into his face. His blue eyes had a look of mild annoyance and resignation. It was easy for Roy to see the family resemblance.

_"I lucked out this time. I was able to get cinnamon, licorice, ginger, nutmeg, turmeric, and a whole bunch of other stuff. He gave me a really steep discount, something about you being with me."_

_"So he knew you had an extra mouth to feed."_

_"No, something about winning a man through his stomach." Riza shook her head, strangely unashamed. "He's always saying stuff like that to me. He keeps telling me about his son who is around my age."_

Oh, hell no.

Fueled with jealousy he couldn't ignore, Roy moved closer to Riza on the bench. When she leaned against him, he had to fight to keep his smugness off his face. However, when he looked at the teenager, it looked like he hadn't even noticed.

Pierre took the box and opened it. He withdrew a few sandwiches and passed them to the children as he spoke. "Tay-ray-za," Riza had to smile at his unique pronunciation of her name, "Roy, meet my son, Jean."

With a friendly smile, Riza extended her hand. "You can call me Riza. I've heard a lot about you."

Jean grinned, clasping her hand with his own. "Same. You're definitely one of Dad's favorites." He let go and extended his hand to Roy. "Nice to meet you guys."

For a second, Roy considered not shaking his hand. No, that would be petty. This kid wasn't a threat. He wasn't the one sitting by Riza, after all. Roy reached out and shook Jean's hand. "Same," he mimicked.

Roy gripped the edge of the bench as Jean took a seat on Riza's left. He bit his tongue despite the feeling in his stomach. What a jerk. When Pierre said something in Cretan, both Jean and Riza laughed. Roy turned his head to the side, studying his sandwich before taking a mildly aggressive bite.

"It's a good thing I know you're joking," Jean told his father.

Riza turned to Jean and asked "Why do you reply in Amestrian if you understand Cretan?"

"He wants to lose his accent," Pierre informed her. He clearly wasn't pleased with the fact.

"I sound like a normal kid if I speak Amestrian enough. If I fall back into Cretan, I start taking sounds from it and putting them into Amestrian," Jean explained. "Dad still wants me to be exposed to Cretan, though."

"It's a part of your heritage. If you don't practice, you'll lose it." Pierre frowned when Jean shrugged. Stubborn boy. Hopefully, he would learn one day.

"So, what're y'all up to?" Jean asked his companions. Roy noticed his eastern colloquialism, and he made the stereotypical assumption that Jean was a little less educated.

"We were looking at the merchandise. There's not much to do here." Riza was trying her best for her grandfather, but she was bored to tears. At least in Giribaz, she knew the ins and outs of where she could go to amuse herself. Here it was all... sheep.

"Tell me about it." Jean tilted his head so that he could crack his neck. "Best thing I've found is the creek, and that's not saying much."

"That'd be a nice place to read or have a picnic," Riza pointed out, turning her attention to Roy. He made a grunt of agreement, to which Riza narrowed her eyes slightly. "Well, I want to go." She stood and turned on her heels to face her companions.

"Alright." Jean placed his hands on his knees and pushed himself up. "I'll show you where it is. It's not far from here, actually."

"I'm going, too," Roy decided. He shoved his hands in his pockets and took his place to Riza's right. He was the first to begin walking despite not knowing the way. Riza frowned at his back for a moment before following, Jean by her side.

The three fell into pace with one another, both boys slowing to match Riza's shorter stride. Jean had placed his hands behind his head and was telling some sort of story which Roy had no interest in. He watched Jean out of the corner of his eye, his attention never wavering. Once the marketplace was out of sight, Jean reached into his back pocket and pulled out a paper package. He hit it against his palm and pulled out the cigarette it produced. He placed it between his lips and spoke around it: "Y'all want one?"

Riza shook her head. She knew plenty of people who smoked back home. She wasn't surprised to discover that Jean did; teenagers out in the countryside were bored, but they knew better than to rebel too extremely. Many of them took up smoking because it was a low-risk taboo for people their age. "I don't smoke," she said simply.

"I do." Riza looked at Roy in surprise when he reached over her head for the pack. _No you don't_ , her eyes defied. She was ignored.

Roy mimicked the way Jean pulled a cigarette from the pack, choosing to hold it between his fingers as he handed it back. It was traded for a lighter, which Jean had already used to light his own. Roy thought back to how Aunt Chris lit hers... oh god, she'd beat him until he was blue if she saw him. He pushed those thoughts away and put the cigarette between his lips. He flicked the lighter and lifted it to the end, covering the flame with his other hand despite the lack of a breeze. He flicked his wrist to close the lighter and handed it over Riza.

God, this tasted awful. He saw Jean exhale a cloud of smoke with a grin. Because he was too busy trying to follow suit, he missed Riza's glare. Bracing himself, he inhaled shallowly; his eyes began to water, and he couldn't exhale soon enough. It tasted like he just licked the bottom of a shoe. He tried his best to keep his distaste from showing. He flicked the ashes off the end to buy himself a moment of clean air. Damn it, he wouldn't be shown up by some country bumpkin.

"So, where are y'all from?" Jean asked, flicking his cigarette up and down with his tongue.

"Giribaz," Riza informed him. She took to ignoring Roy once she realized he wasn't going to stop acting like an ass.

"Really? That's not far from Aszamem. I could probably walk there in half a day."

"I never knew that you lived so close."

"I'm from Central," Roy jumped in, even though the conversation hadn't come back to him just yet.

Jean took his cigarette between his fingers so that he could whistle his disbelief. "You're not just a city boy; you're a city boy to the extreme." He didn't mean this as an insult in any way, but that didn't change the way Roy took it. "What're you doing out in the East, then? People from here move to the city, not the other way around."

"I'm studying alchemy under Riza's father." Roy puffed his chest at this, letting himself feel superior.

"Man, I wish I was smart enough for something like that," Jean admitted. "I can shoot a gun and run a shop, and that's about it."

"It's really rigorous. Not many people make it through."

"Well, here's hoping you do." Jean reached around Riza to clap Roy on the back, grinning widely.

_Ass_ _hole_ , Roy thought to himself. _Quit being sarcastic already._ In his bitterness, he hadn't noticed that they had reached the creek. Jean sat on a rock, removing his shoes and rolling up his pants legs. His half-burned cigarette stuck out of the corner of his mouth. Roy was surprised to see Riza doing the same. He pulled his cigarette from his mouth and dropped it, grinding it into the dirt with his foot.

"Don't forget to pick that up before we leave, man." Jean pointed to Roy's feet. "Don't need anything eating that."

Roy was about to retort that he knew better than to do that, but Jean had turned his back to him as he waded into the water. He grit his teeth when he saw Jean extend his hand to help Riza into the creek.

"You coming in?" Jean asked.

"I don't like water," Roy stated bluntly. He sat on the ground and leaned against a tree, arms crossed as he watched the small rapids just a ways down the bend.

* * *

"See you tomorrow!" Riza called after Jean's retreating figure, earning a nonchalant wave in return. They - well, she and Jean - had agreed to meet up for the sheepdog demonstrations the next day. It was while they were making these plans that Jean had taken a detour from his destination, choosing to walk them past the Elric home instead.

Riza began to walk the path up to the house, aware that Roy was following her by the sound of his footsteps. Rather than approach the door, she walked over to stand beneath the large oak tree in the yard. Roy still followed her. She stopped and balled her hands into fists, squaring her shoulders before facing him.

"What the hell is your problem?!" she shouted, catching Roy off guard. He'd never heard her use this tone before. Without letting him respond, Riza continued. "Jean was very kind to us. He clearly wanted to be your friend, but you acted like an ass!"

"He wanted to be a little more than that with you," Roy grumbled quietly in a low tone. His words didn't escape Riza's attention.

"You've got to be kidding me! _That's_ your issue?! You self-absorbed, egotistical idiot!"

"Yeah, that's my issue!" Roy shot back. "And you didn't need to rub it in my face all day, either! You call _me_ self-absorbed?"

"Yeah, I do." Riza snarled. "Because if you didn't have your head so far up your ass, maybe you'd get a clue!"

"Oh, _excuse_ me, Miss Omnipotent. Yeah, I know big words, too, unlike that idiot. Honestly, what the hell do you even see in him?"

Riza scowled, astounded that he could even act this way. "Nothing! A friend! Why should you even care?!"

"I just do!"

"Idiot!" She had had enough. Her hands shot out and grabbed the front of his shirt, pulling him down to her level. In a fraction of a second, her lips pressed against his; she used her hold on him to throw him back, nearly knocking him off balance. "You goddamned, useless idiot!"

Roy stood dumbfounded as he watched Riza storm into the house. He jolted when she slammed the door behind her. He plopped down onto the grass, trying to figure out what just happened. The sun continued to set, and he wasn't sure how long it had been before he saw Trisha and Van approaching. Where even was Grumman, anyway? It wasn't important.

"Are you okay?"

Roy looked up to see Trisha standing over him. All he could do was shrug. His face betrayed his confusion.

"Come on, let's get you inside."

Roy let himself be helped to his feet.

"Would some hot cocoa help?"

He nodded.

"Dear?"

"I've got it." Van placed a hand on Roy's shoulder, guiding him into the house. "Come on, kid. I know that look."

The door clicked softly shut behind them.


	15. Chance

She didn't want to talk about it.

She voiced her goodbyes to Pierre and Jean, openly embracing both of them. She thanked the Elrics with a smile that didn't reach her eyes, and she kissed her grandfather on the cheek with a promise to write.

She buried herself in her solitude, taking refuge in a book as fields and villages passed by. She didn't want to talk about it, and he had no idea what to do.

Roy subconsciously let out a sigh as he stared out the window, just like he had done every minute before. The only sound was the rattling of the wheels and the soft turning of pages. His stomach dropped when he heard the binding shuffle as Riza closed her book. Her reflection in the window showed her sitting with her eyes closed, curled up on herself as her head rested against the wall. She was shutting him out, going back to square one; no, further than that. He slumped down in his seat and began to tap his foot on the floor. _Tap tap tap tap tap tap tap._

"Please stop."

He looked over at Riza, who met his gaze for the first time that day. It was deeply unsettling that he couldn't read her. Obediently, he kept his foot still. He couldn't help himself. "So you're talking to me now?"

"Hm?"

"You've been giving me the cold shoulder all day." Roy's tone prickled.

Riza's lips drew into a thin line. "I hadn't meant to," she admitted. Her fingers traced the back cover of her book. "I've been preoccupied."

"So we're not going to talk about what happened?"

Riza's fingers curled into her palm. "I shouldn't have," she admitted, studying the back of her hand. "It was a stupid thing to do, and I'm sorry."

"Why are you sorry?" Roy asked, genuinely confused.

Riza looked blankly at him from across the car. She had figured out that he had feelings for her long before he knew it himself, so she wasn't surprised. Really, she thought he would have understood. To put it simply, "You can't stay."

Roy drummed his fingers on his knee. She was right. Master Hawkeye wouldn't kick him out; he hardly cared about what either of them did so long as he wasn't disturbed. One day, however, his studies had to end. Finding his courage, he retorted, "You can't, either." He explained himself before she could ask. "You can't tell me you plan to spend your entire life in that house. What kind of life is that? You're smart, Riza. Too smart for that village."

"I don't want to talk about my future," Riza objected. "I made a mistake. Let's just leave it at that."

Roy stayed silent for a few moments. "At the rate I'm being taught, I'll probably still be studying under Master Hawkeye when I'm thirty."

"That's sixteen years, Roy. You're being hyperbolic."

"Alright, twenty-nine, then. Make it a solid fifteen." He smiled at his own joke. "In fifteen years, if I'm still some hopeless alchemist, and I haven't abandoned you, what then?"

"I'd be surprised," Riza murmured before she could catch her thought.

Roy walked over to her bench and sat down on the opposite end. He placed his feet on the chair and bent his knees, leaning against the wall. Riza avoided his gaze. He studied her profile as he tried to think of what to say. Damn it, why was talking so hard? It hadn't been this difficult with her before. Finally, he landed on four words. They weren't eloquent or romantic, and they certainly weren't poetry. All the same, he stood on the edge of a cliff as he asked, "Give me a chance?"

Riza's thumb repeatedly brushed against her fingertips, exposing her anxiety. She was afraid to. A small voice in her head countered, _haven't you already?_ When she nodded, it was an answer to both questions. By letting him get as close as she already had, she knew that it would hurt her when he eventually left. She guessed that letting him closer wouldn't hurt any more or less.

Roy grinned and swung his legs off the bench. He threw one arm around Riza, to which she raised an eyebrow. "So I _am_ cooler than that Cretan, wannabe bad boy."

"Dont." Riza warned, even though she knew he was trying to play. "Jean likes you. You don't need to be mean to him."

"He what?"

"He said that you seem like a fun guy to hang out with, and that we should come visit sometime. He wants to be your friend, Roy." When he didn't respond, she added "He knows you thought he was a threat. You weren't exactly subtle. "

Roy groaned when he realized what he had done. "Was it really that obvious?"

"Yes." Riza was trying her best to scold him, but she started laughing when she thought about his actions. "I can't wait to tell Aunt Chris that you tried to smoke."

All the color drained from Roy's face. "You wouldn't." Riza flashed him a mischievous smile in return.

"C'mon, Riza!"


	16. Summertime

Spring wasn't really a season in Giribaz. Once the rains stopped, the ground leeched away all the water with desperation. Even the flowers bloomed with caution. The air became bitter and dry; the only benefit was the lack of humidity to hold down the desert heat. It didn't take long for the winds to blow in from the East, bringing the parched desert with them, searching for a reprieve.

Riza took to wearing a hat or a scarf over her head whenever she went outside to do her chores. Roy soon learned to do the same after getting a nasty sunburn after a day patching the roof. He had to be held down while Riza tore open the thick leaf of a plant and applied the gel to his neck. Not keen to have that strange paste on him again, Roy wandered into town the next day and returned with hat in hand.

Roy lay prostrate on the floor, an alchemical tome open before him. He had cuffed his jeans as far as they would go, and he had abandoned his shirt altogether. The garment had turned into a rag, which he used to wipe his brow every few minutes. The Hawkeye residence had no such thing as a cooling system, which he lamented vocally for days after he became aware. Every window was wide open, and the slight breeze only made him remember how hot it was when it died away.

Riza cropped her hair back for the first time since she cut it, which provided some relief. She, at least, had several pairs of shorts and thin, sleeveless tops. She felt guilty that she had forgotten to tell Roy to pack summer clothing when they last visited Central, but there was nothing she could do now. Her fingers worked at folding a piece of paper into a fan, which provided some relief.

Roy sat up and looked at his companion. "You know you _literally_ live in the middle of hell, right?"

"Virtually," Riza corrected.

"I meant what I said."

"It could be worse. Ishval is unbearable in the summer, according to Grandfather." She had taken her idea for tying a scarf around her head from one of his stories. She was glad to hear thay it held no religious significance for the followers of Ishvala, and it was extremely practical. "Jean is closer than we are to the desert, too."

"Somehow, that doesn't make me feel better," Roy grumbled. "Let's move to the north."

"... Why?"

"So I never have to deal with this heat again."

Riza smirked. "But then you'd have to deal with the cold. And don't forget the snow."

Roy groaned dramatically and let himself fall onto his back, his head landing on the book. "Why do you always have to be _right?"_

"It's a gift." Riza began to wave her paper fan up and down in Roy's direction.

Despite Riza's initial concerns, virtually nothing had changed over the past month. It was only awkward when she or Roy chose to make it so. What had seemed natural to them before remained that way. Their banter, reading by the fireplace, all of it came with no effort. It was reassuring for her, with the added benefit of keeping her father in the dark. She knew he wouldn't care, but the last thing she wanted to do was give him a reason to lash out.

"I'm dying," Roy swore, and he could feel his back stick to the wooden floor as he shifted, removing the book from under his head.

"The dead aren't nearly this dramatic." Riza offered him her glass of water. To her amusement, Roy poured the contents into his hands and splashed his face. "It'll get colder once the sun goes down. Just be patient. Finish your reading."

Yet again, she was right. Berthold's time limits became more ridiculous as the assignments became more difficult. Really, Roy wondered if he wasn't the one being studied. He grimaced as he rolled onto his stomach and opened the book. His hair hung down in his face, sticking to his forehead; no matter how much he fought it, it just didn't want to stay out of his line of sight. Giving up the battle, he opened to the page where he had left off.

_Now the man pardoned by God can prepare and make ready an object or substance of the above mentioned red or white, of Sol and Luna, which is called the Lapidem Philosophorum, or the very ancient Water-Stone of the Wise, from the substance in which God placed such potency at the creation or genesis of the world, or the oft-mentioned materials or Subjectum which God, out of love and grace, implanted in the highly-endowed divine man.*_

INSERT BREAK HERE

Roy awoke to a gentle prodding in his left side. His eyes fought to open themselves, and the sight that greeted him was the grain of the wooden floor. His face scrunched up as he lifted his head, pushing himself into a seated position. Riza stood over him, hands on her hips. Rather than the scolding he had anticipated, she reached a hand out to him and helped him to his feet.

"Come on."

Roy allowed himself to be pulled up the stairs, Riza's hand still clasping his own. She led him into her bedroom, which puzzled him, and then she climbed out her open window, which confused him more. He walked to the window and stuck his head out, looking for her.

Riza stood not far from the window, sure-footed despite the slant. When she looked back at him, Roy realized that he was still supposed to follow. With far less grace, he pulled himself out onto the roof. The night air was drastically colder than the heat of the day, but even still, he was comfortable in what he was wearing. He sat down beside Riza, who had perched herself near the peak of the roof. When she lay down on her back, he followed suit.

He had lived with the Hawkeyes for nearly a year, but he still hadn't gotten used to the way the stars shone at night. The sky was so unpolluted that the stars made up for the lack of streetlights. Riza raised her hand and pointed at the stars. "Look, it's the ouroboros."

Roy followed her direction and squinted, unable to see the constellation. Riza reached over and tilted his head slightly, trying to guide him. "Just a few degrees to the left. No, you overshot." She moved closer to him and placed her head next to his, trying to get a better idea of where he was looking. "Riiiight there."

An oddly gathered group of stars tried their hardest to make a circle, but Roy saw an oval, at best. "I've never heard of this one before."

"It's one my father taught me," Riza admitted. "When I was young, we used to stargaze on the roof, all three of us, just like this." Her voice had turned wistful. "My mother would hold me in her lap and point out the stars she knew, and my father tried to think of names for the ones she didn't." She felt Roy tense beside her. "I know you want to ask," she murmured, keeping her eyes upwards. "I don't know what happened. Back then, the schoolteacher was still alive; I came home from my classes and she was gone. Father wouldn't let me see her. When we buried her the next day, only the two of us were there. I was five years old."

Not knowing what to say, Roy offered an "I'm sorry."

"Grandfather knows something that I don't about what happened. He won't tell me, though. I think he might have told Aunt Chris." Riza moved her head to rest on Roy's chest. In silence, she listened to his heart beat. "Father stopped being himself. He used to be a good man, but... well, you know him now. He won't go into town, you know. I think he blames our neighbors for not helping. Helping what is anyone's guess. He just... hates people now."

Roy placed a hand on Riza's head, smoothing her hair as she continued. "Everyone is still really nice to me, but only when I come around. At first, people would bring us meals or other things we needed. M. Pierre even brought us all kinds of goods when he found out. But that stopped after Father answered the door a few times. He called it charity." She hesitated, as if trying to decide whether or not to continue. "Grandfather wrote once and offered to send me to a private academy. I don't know what Father said, but we never got another letter from him."

Roy exhaled through his nose, processing this information. He couldn't help but wonder if their paths would have crossed if she had gone to that school or moved in with Grumman after her mother's death. He was drawn back when one question entered his mind. "What was her name?"

"Eva." Riza smiled softly. "People say I have her eyes. They say hers were like honey. I don't know how mine ended up darker. And I have her nose."

Roy silently thanked God for that.

The two had long since ignored the stars, and Riza had closed her eyes. Cicadas trilled from the forest, annoyingly perseverent. Riza's hand lay across Roy's chest, and his fingers lingered in her hair. It wasn't until a sharp breeze sent needles through them that they even thought about going inside. After they clambered through the opening, Riza slid her window shut and closed the latch. When she turned around, Roy brushed her bangs back from her face and softly kissed her forehead, aware that they would have to continue their conversation in the morning.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * Taken from An Anonymous Treatise on the Philosopher's Stone


	17. Rebellion

Mr. Pratt folded down the top of his newspaper when he heard the door chime. He frowned slightly, puzzled by his company. It was early, too early for this particular customer to be up and out. "Morning, Roy," he called, raising one hand in greeting. The young man returned the gesture. The shopkeeper's eyes strayed back to the door, but it remained shut. His stomach dropped. "Roy, where's Riza?"

Roy was studying the back of a box of noodles, and he didn't lift his eyes when he replied, "She's at the house. She didn't want to make the walk today."

"Is she alright?"

"Yeah," Roy affirmed. When he looked up, he saw Mr. Pratt approaching him. He was taken by his upper arms, his face not far from the shopkeeper's.

" _Is she alright_?" The question was repeated with more emphasis.

"She's fine." Roy began to feel nervous, feeding off the energy around him. Hesitantly, he asked, "Why? What's wrong?"

Mr. Pratt let go of his arms and stepped back. Roy was an honest kid, so he probably wasn't lying. "I worry about her," he admitted before walking back to the counter.

Roy followed, not willing to give up just yet. "Why's that?"

The shopkeeper fell back into his chair with a hrumph. "I guess you wouldn't know..." The look in the boy's eyes convinced him, against his better judgement, to explain. "I don't trust that Pa of hers. None of us do; not since Eva. There's not a doubt in my mind that those two were made for eachother. You'd say the same if you met her, if you knew him before."

Roy listened intently, his black eyes never moving from the shopkeeper's face.

"Ya see, none of us know what happened to sweet Eva. When she passed so suddenly, none of us were told about her funeral. Berthold rushed it. Really hurt the people in town. Little Riza made her way down here that same day to buy some food. She was dressed in black, and her eyes were red, the poor thing. I took her home after I made a meal for her and Berthold, but when he opened the door, he pulled Riza inside and slammed it in my face. I left the food on the porch in hopes that she could convince him."

"Word got around, and everybody gave it a try at least once. That Cretan trader got more out of Riza than anyone else. Apparently, Berthold had stopped eating, and the child was so sick with worry that she had, too. Pierre was having none of that, so he brought her into town. Of course, we treated her as best we could. Her eyes... it was like there was nothing left in them. It was enough to break your heart. We all wanted to take her in, but she refused to leave her father."

"I'm sure she isn't being treated right. The wife says I'm reading too much into it, but no little girl should have the look she does." Mr. Pratt hesitated, not sure if he wanted the answer to his question. "Have you seen anything?"

Roy faltered, not sure what to say. "I mean... it's kind of like you said. Master Hawkeye just sits in his study all the time and never comes out. Riza leaves him food." He stuck his hands in his pockets, trying to think of what he could say without betraying Riza's trust. Saying what he thought rather than what he had been told should be okay. "She's scared of him," he admitted. "There have been a few times when he's been angry with me. He's thrown books at me, threatened to kick me out... But Riza always gets more scared than I do. Last year, she was so upset that she hid behind a chair in the living room. I mean, yeah, Master Hawkeye almost clocked me with a book, but..."

Mr. Pratt stood up from his chair, fixing Roy with his gaze. "Promise me that you'll protect that girl. Somehow, she's managed to keep some light in her. Don't let Berthold stomp it out. You keep her safe, and you keep her whole."

"Yes, sir," Roy promised, taken aback by their conversation. Mr. Pratt's nod signaled the end of their conversation, and Roy hurried to purchase the rest of what he needed. The bell to the shop rang behind him. The summer heat was welcome compared to what had just transpired. He held the paper bag in his left arm, leaving his right hand free, which he flexed and unflexed as he walked. He had lived there for a year; if Master Hawkeye were hurting Riza, wouldn't he have seen it? Wouldn't Riza have said something? Something wasn't right, but he didn't think it was that.

The more he thought about it, the more it became clear to him. Master Hawkeye was never there. He kept himself in his study for days at a time. They were lucky if they managed to catch sight of him once a week. When he did appear, he barked orders at them and scolded them about something or another. He had seen Master Hawkeye angry only once, and that wasn't even true anger; it was more like severe irritation.

He didn't know the words to describe all of this, but he knew it was wrong. It had been wrong ever since he arrived. Now that Riza had opened up to him and allowed herself to let down her walls, it seemed like cruelty.

When the house was finally in view, he was torn from his thoughts. Even from this distance, he could hear Master Hawkeye shouting. He quickened his pace, kicking up dirt as he went. When he passed the fence, he stumbled to a stop, breathing a sigh of relief. Riza was sitting underneath her favorite tree, her back straight as a board. Her knees were pulled up to her chest, and she plucked nervously at the grass beside her. She lifted her chin from her knees and looked over at Roy, her eyes expressionless. The moment was punctuated by a wordless shout of aggravation from inside the house.

Roy walked over to Riza and sat down beside her, setting the bag of groceries to his left. He placed an arm across her shoulders and waited for her to say something. When she didn't, he rested his head on top of hers. She reached out and took his hand, lacing her fingers through his.

"Are you okay?" Roy asked gently. He felt her nod her head beneath his own. He breathed a sigh of relief, realizing that he had been holding his breath.

"He hit a dead end," Riza explained. Berthold had been chasing this thread for the better part of a year. There had been successes and failures, but nothing like this. She didn't know what it was that he was researching, but she could hear him well enough to know that all of that research had been useless.

Roy grimaced. If that was the case, he wasn't going to let up for quite some time. He wouldn't be surprised if this lasted the better part of a week. The best way to handle the situation was to keep their heads down and stay out of his way until he had a new idea and locked himself away again. He frowned, building up the courage to ask what had been on his mind. "Riza... your dad-"

"No," Riza answered, knowing what he was about to ask. "He's never hurt me physically." She paused for a moment before murmuring, "But that doesn't mean he won't."

"What do you mean?"

"You've seen him throw things at you. What if he had actually hit you with them? Or when he pushes you out of his study, or when he slams his fists on the table or wall." Riza shook her head. "He's threatening, and not just to you. I don't trust him." Those four words made her stomach fall, and she tightened her grip on Roy's hand. That was the truth of it all: she had no faith in her father. She was aware of it for years, but she had never admitted that the only person she had was herself. How it fell to her to take care of herself and her father, how she had no help, how she struggled to be perfect and maybe get him to notice her. It was as though, to him, she was as much of a ghost as her mother.

Roy shifted his position and pulled Riza into a hug, holding her close. She didn't fight him. He could feel her shaking, and he began to rock slowly from side to side. He planted a kiss on the top of her head and stroked her shoulder with his thumb. It became increasingly difficult to soothe her the more he thought about all he had learned. Nonetheless, he knew she needed to be cared for in that moment, and so he did. He ignored the mosquitoes that flew up to bite at his neck and arms, and he didn't even think about how hot it was. Nothing mattered but Riza and her well-being. Eventually, the noise inside the house stopped. Somehow, the silence was worse than the shouting. Riza seemed to feel the same way, judging by the way her body tensed when it fell quiet. It was as if she was bracing herself for it to start all over again.

The air began to cool as the sun disappeared from the sky. Riza shivered and finally pulled herself away from Roy. Her eyes were red, and yet she wore that stoic mask she used so well. If she wanted to pretend that everything was alright, Roy wasn't going to stop her. Not tonight, at least. She was shaken, and he felt she had been through enough. He could easily see that she was hurting, but he didn't want to press the issue any further. He pushed himself to his feet and offered Riza his hand, helping her do the same. The bag of groceries found its place in Roy's left arm, and the two walked to the front door, Roy's hand on Riza's back.

Roy turned the doorknob and pushed the door inward, stepping into the house first. Everything looked still, much to his relief. He made his way over to the kitchen counter to set down the bag. Much to his surprise, Riza was following him like a shadow. This meek attitude was so unlike her that it made him anxious. Of course, he didn't tell her that. She helped him put away the groceries and take out the ingredients for that night's dinner. In order not to heat the house up any more, it was agreed that they shouldn't use the stove or oven. It only took a head of lettuce and some fruit to make a salad large enough, and delicious enough, to feed all three of them. Roy couldn't stand traditional salad, but the fruit made it bearable; he was also attracted to the recipe because it was incredibly simple to make.

The two children moved to the couch and placed their bowls on the coffee table. They both picked up a book, reading and eating in silence. When she heard a door open, Riza remembered that she hadn't placed a plate outside her father's study. She quickly shut her book and rushed into the kitchen, hurriedly serving his portion. She wasn't quick enough; Berthold exited the hallway before she could set his plate down on the kitchen table. Riza set his dinner on the table and searched for some silverware only to realize that she didn't have any clean. In an instant, Berthold's hand shot out and caught her by the upper arm. Riza froze, eyes wide. In her panic, she had forgotten how to swallow.

Icy blue eyes stared down at her from behind a mess of blonde hair. "What is wrong with you?" Berthold demanded. When he relieved no response, he pressed, "Well?"

Riza looked down at the floor, grimacing as his grip tightened. "I'm sorry, Father," she plead.

"You live in my house, you do as I say."

"Yes, Father."

"Which is?"

"Keep the house tidy, don't answer the door, cook and shop so we can eat, and... um..." Her heart beat faster as she tried to remember.

"And keep from being a nuisance," Berthold spat, livid that she could forget such a simple set of rules.

"Yes, sir," Riza affirmed, still not meeting his gaze.

Berthold released her arm with force, causing her to stumble back a step. "Boy!" he shouted, looking over his shoulder. "Get in here and eat at the table! This isn't a whorehouse!"

Riza gasped involuntarily. She dared not look at either of them. Her fingers dug into her palms as she uttered a silent prayer for Roy to hold back. Before she could stop herself, she spoke softly, "Don't say that."

Berthold turned his attention back to his daughter. "Did you just say something to me?" he challenged.

Riza clenched her fists and gathered all the courage in her body. "I said, 'don't say that.'"

"Oh, really?" Berthold scowled. "Idiot child. You need to learn some respect!" He raised his right hand, at which Riza cowered. She closed her eyes tightly.

The next thing she knew, she had fallen onto the ground. She had heard a slap, but she hadn't felt it. Cautiously, she opened her eyes to see Roy standing over her. Berthold couldn't keep surprise from showing on his face, if only for a split second. Roy turned his head back so that he was facing Berthold. His cheek stung, but that only fed the fire.

"You goddamned coward!" Roy shouted, standing tall so that he could be as close as possible to his master's level. "What, is hitting a kid going to make you feel better about yourself?! Belittling us?! Just because you're pissed that you failed doesn't give you the right to use us to inflate your ego!"

Berthold's hand shot out and grabbed the front of Roy's shirt. He lifted him until his toes scraped the ground, putting Roy's face in front of his. But Roy wasn't about to let his master intimidate him. "Get out of my house," Berthold snarled.

"Like hell." Roy looked him squarely in the eyes. "No. _You_ go crawl back into your cave and throw yourself a pity party, and leave us the fuck alone."

Berthold threw Roy back, but Riza managed to stop his momentum. Roy grabbed the counter to steady himself. He spat blood onto the floor and wiped his chin with the back of his hand. "I want to be there when you get what's coming to you, you narcissistic son of a bitch!"

"If you're not out by sunrise, there'll be hell to pay," Berthold swore before turning his back on them. The tension in the air held until they heard the door to the study slam shut.

Riza immediately fell to her knees, her eyes wide in horror. Roy lowered himself down beside her, and she buried her head in his chest.

"I'm sorry," her voice shook. "I'm so, so sorry."

"You don't need to be sorry."

Riza shook her head forcefully, and Roy felt his shirt begin to dampen. "I should have remembered. I should have been thinking. I shouldn't have said anything. I should have just left his plate outside the study. I-"

"Shhhh." Roy stroked the back of her head. "You did nothing wrong."

"I'm sorry. It's all my fault."

"It's his fault, not yours," Roy assured her. The only response he got was a choked sob.

"I don't want you to leave."

"Hey, I'm not going anywhere. He's tried to kick me out before, remember?"

"Don't go." Riza's whisper was almost inaudible, muffled by his shirt.

"I won't," Roy swore, holding her to him.

Hours felt like minutes as they sat this way, and Roy wasn't surprised when he felt her relax in his arms. Carefully, he gathered her up and lifted her from the floor, resting her head on his shoulder before carrying her upstairs. It took some maneuvering to pull down her blanket while holding her at the same time, but he managed. He gently lay her down and pulled the blanket over her. When he turned to face the door, he hesitated. After tonight, he didn't trust Berthold, either. For his own peace of mind, he sat down on the other side of the bed, fully intending to watch over Riza. He stifled a yawn and forced his eyes to stay open. They were both physically and emotionally drained, but the night was far from over.

He wasn't conscious enough to realize he had fallen asleep next to her.


	18. Beginning Recovery

It wasn't surprising when Roy found another stack of books waiting for him on the kitchen table. In fact, it had become so routine that he had stopped complaining about it. Riza had guessed that her father was keeping him on as a student, despite last week's incident, because they couldn't afford to lose his tuition. The reason mattered very little to Roy. Over the last few days, he had been concocting what he considered to be a fool-proof plan to convince Riza to move to Central with him if he was kicked out. He wasn't sure if he should be thankful that he didn't have to use it. His master was now a threat. Berthold had stripped himself of a good deal of respect in Roy's eyes; the man seemed to be a completely useless teacher and an incompetent, cruel father. It was hard for him to stomach.

For his 'bad behavior,' his studies had stagnated. Everything he was reading seemed to stay on the topic of combustion reactions. Complete and incomplete combustion, formulae which seemed to never end, the theoretical application of a philosopher's stone on the reaction; it never ended. For his part, he would have just as soon tested the reactions on the books themselves. He was having this very thought when the book suddenly disappeared from his hands. He blinked once and looked up, finding Riza.

"You need a break," she said decisively as she marked his place and closed the text.

Roy was confused. "You… _want_ me to take a break?"

"You haven't turned the page in half an hour. Trust me, you need a break."

Well, he wasn't about to argue with that. When she suggested that they run their weekly errands, he jumped at the chance to get out of the house for a while. Carrying groceries was far more pleasant, even if it was a chore.

Riza had taken the time to alter some of her father's old clothing, which had been gathering dust in one of the unused rooms in a box marked 'charity.' Many of her clothes came from the same box, which was far fuller with her mother's things than her father's. Shirts were altered to shorten the sleeves and tighten the torso, and pants were hemmed to his length. She had left many of them slightly larger than he needed, citing the fact that he had grown at least two inches since that winter. Roy had never experienced hand-me-downs, and it was something he had to get used to. The alterations were as good as any he could find in a store, but the clothes had a strange smell to them. A mixture of dust, stale air, and whiskey clung to the fabric, which Riza insisted would go away in just a few washes. Unwilling to wait that long, he finally broke open the bottle of cologne Bea had given him for Christmas and used it to cover the scent.

It seemed to be working. Riza had kept her distance from him when he had first started wearing the altered clothing. When he wore the cologne, she didn't seem to mind. Instinctively, he knew her reasoning, even if she might not have known it herself. She had gone to such lengths to make his life a little easier that he would have paid a far greater price for her comfort.

His shoes, however, remained his own. As such, he was restricted to a pair of running shoes and a pair of dress shoes. It was vain, he knew, but he always noted how the red trim never matched the colors he was wearing when he tied his laces. Today, at least, the short-sleeved, white button down and jeans he was wearing didn't cause that issue. He watched as Riza put on her wide-brimmed hat, a gift from her grandfather, and opened the door. The two of them leisurely began their walk into the town, neither of them in a rush to head back any time soon. Ever cautious, his hand reached out and found hers, hesitating before lacing their fingers. As usual, she paid little mind, but he was able to catch the momentary glint in her eyes.

Their cheeks were tinged red by the time they could see the rooftops; the heat gave them little mercy. The breeze drifted to and fro frequently, which helped alleviate their discomfort. All the same, they were thankful for the cold interior of Mr. Pratt's general store. Roy let out a heavy sigh of relief and stood in front of a fan, leaving Riza to browse the aisles on her own for a moment. The bell above the door had summoned the shopkeeper, who chuckled to himself at Roy's position.

"Warm out there, is it, son?" he inquired, his cheekbones lifting up his glasses.

"Yessir," Roy nodded, looking over at him. He realized his mistake when Mr. Pratt's eyes locked on to the lingering discoloration on the side of his face. His stomach dropped when he saw the grocer's eyes narrow and his mouth open. Roy shook his head vigorously back and forth to delay any comment he was about to make. Mr. Pratt caught on when Riza appeared out of the next aisle.

"Hello, Mr. Pratt," Riza chimed cheerfully as she pulled a package off the shelf. She had no idea how much her presence relieved him, and she wasn't paying enough attention to catch his sigh of relief.

"Good to see you, Riza," Mr. Pratt returned. He beckoned Roy over when Riza had become preoccupied. "What happened?" he demanded in a hushed tone.

"I took care of it," Roy assured him.

"Roy," the shopkeeper's tone grew firm, "what. Happened?"

"Berthold was being an ass. That's all. I took care of it."

The shopkeeper raised an eyebrow, but he let the topic drop. He shook his head, adding, "I'm proud of you, boy. But don't try to be the hero; you have people I want to help you."

"I know, sir."

They both fell silent as Riza approached with her basket. She looked between the two of them, but she decided not to bring it up. The conversation that passed while she paid for the food was superficial, and she wasn't stupid. She knew exactly what had happened. Not a word was said until the two children left the shop. Once outside, Riza looked at her companion. "What did you say to him?"

"Nothing. He asked what happened, and I just said I took care of it."

After a moment of silence, she stated "He's worried about me."

Roy nodded. Riza pressed her side against his, and he draped his arm across her shoulders.

"I'm sorry." Her eyes were fixed on her shoes as they walked.

Roy shushed her quietly and pressed a kiss to the side of her head. "You have nothing to be sorry about. People worry because they love you. That's nothing to apologize for."

Riza nodded, not entirely convinced, but thankful for his attempt.

"Let me make dinner tonight, okay?"

Riza quirked an eyebrow before asking "Do you know how?"

"You'll just have to wait and see." Roy smiled when she laughed, please that he could lift her up even a little bit.


	19. Gameplan

The next two months passed without further incident. Berthold, as usual, rarely made an appearance outside his study; the few times he was seen, he either ignored the children or didn't notice them at all. Roy was pleased with this development, but he noticed the sharp change in Riza's mood. These moments always left her withdrawn. She never wanted to talk about what was wrong until things came to a head. Roy wasn't willing to wait that long. In his next letter home, he wrote how things had changed for the worse in the Hawkeye residence. He didn't say why. He did, however, ask when they could visit next. Roy waited, and waited, and waited for a response, but no letter came. Day after day, he walked to the post office, but by this point all he had to do was glance in the window and see the clerk shaking his head to know what the answer was to his unspoken question. It had been three weeks. The letter had plenty of time to be sent, delivered, and read. He kicked a loose rock with his foot as he trudged back up the hill, lost in his own frustration. He wanted to help her, but he just didn't know how.

* * *

Cigarette ashes fell into a ceramic bowl, flicked off by long, painted fingers. This was the third time she had read the letter this week, and she still wasn't sure what to make of it. Chris placed the cigarette back in her mouth to free up her hands, which folded the paper along the creases she had made. The creak of leather drew her from her thoughts, and she turned her attention to her newest guest. She harumphed and turned her back. Her hands found a bottle of whiskey and two glasses as she asked "What do you want, you old codger?"

"That's no way to treat your favorite customer," Grumman retorted as he took the bottle and opened the top. He filled Chris' glass before filling his own.

"You're a favorite because you spend the most money," Chris told him bluntly.

Grumman laughed rambunctiously as his eyes flicked to the piece of paper she still held between her fingers. "How is the boy?" he asked over the noise of clanking glasses and overzealous patrons.

Chris tucked the paper under the bar for safekeeping. "There's something he's not telling me. I knew to expect as much from a teenager, but this is bigger than sneaking out at night or causing trouble. He likes to think I'm ignorant." A cloud of grey smoke rose to join the haze in the air. "I know it has something to do with that man."

The old soldier took a large drink from his glass. He had a feeling that he was too sober for a conversation about his son-in-law. His eyes locked on to Chris', and she nodded. The piece of paper found its way into her hand once more, and she beckoned for him to follow. No one noticed them slip off, and Jessica silently took her place behind the bar. The room marked 'VIP' was scarcely used, and never by anyone else. Every week, Chris scoured the place down to the molding of the walls to make sure that the room stayed secure. This was, after all, where the real business was done. She passed the letter to her guest before settling on the chaise-lounge.

There wasn't much to be found on the page. The wording was that of a teenage boy: nondescript and lacking. Yet his worry managed to find its way through to the receiver. "What do you think?" Grumman inquired as he placed the letter on the wooden end-table.

"I think that you were right to tell me about him." Chris studied the end of her cigarette before taking another draw. Her next words mingled with the smoke. "I think the boy's starting to figure it out. I worry about her, too..."

"Damn it, if I could give the son of a bitch a piece of my mind, I'd-"

"I know," Chris cut off yet another telling of his elaborate revenge. After she was sure that her guest wasn't going to continue, she began "Roy wants to get both of them out of there, like you read. But look here, he didn't ask. I know my boy. If he wanted to visit, or take a vacation, he would have said so. But he doesn't give me any reason at all. It doesn't sound like he wants to quit. Read here, he's adamant that little Elizabeth comes with him. It's almost like he wants her to come more than he wants to visit himself."

Grumman gave the letter another reading, trying to draw as much out of the page as he possibly could. "Riza's pretty open about Berthold's neglectfulness; she thinks it's normal. Roy doesn't mind talking about it, either." He sighed, pained that both the children had come to accept it as a part of their lives. "Eva didn't want anything to do with me, but from what I could manage to gather, her husband didn't sound terrible in the beginning. Now, he's an arrogant jackass, and I don't think I'll ever forgive him for her death. But every time I check up on that town, nothing ever comes up about him. That house is so isolated..." He placed his hands on either side of his head.

This was a delicate subject for him, but Chris needed to be blunt. "Is this enough to bring them both here?" She looked at her companion for a long time, and he just looked at her in return. Breaking the silence, she added "If those children are suffering, he has no right to either of them."

"I know that. I just... I'm torn," the old man admitted, looking far more powerless than he was. "If we bring them home, they might resent us for the rest of their lives. Besides, you know as well as I do that this nation is unstable. There's been talk about sending me east. All because I didn't accept that sadistic offer... I can't bring Riza out there. There's a war brewing; everyone can feel it. The region's a time bomb."

"Roy-boy might murder someone if they're separated," Chris added in all seriousness.

The flicking of Chris' lighter was the only sound in the room. Her exhale disrupted the stillness of the air, her eyes fixed on the fog coating the ceiling. "We're sitting here debating whether leaving them with a neglectful man is better than bringing them somewhere their home would be safe but their environment wouldn't. What the hell has this place come to?"

"It's only going to get much, much worse. Most likely on both fronts."

"I envy the Ishvalans," Chris admitted, much to the surprise of her guest. "They have something to believe in, a higher power worth defending. But those two... Nothing kind would have made their lives this difficult."

Another silence passed. Grumman chose to break it, asking "So what are we going to do?"

"Bring them here. Not permanently, at least, not at first. I want them for an extended visit. We need to find out what's really going on in Giribaz before we make any major decisions."

"Deadbeat that he is, I'm sure Berthold will be more than willing to rid himself of them." Venom dripped from the soldier's words.

Chris rose from her chair. "I'll purchase the tickets first thing tomorrow morning."

"You're a good woman, Madam." Grumman smiled despite his discontent.

"Get the stars out of your eyes, you old coot."


	20. Growth Spurt

"Oh my _God_ , I just can't stand it!" Jessica hid herself behind the doorframe, watching as Roy took their suitcases out of the trunk. Riza stood beside him, holding an umbrella over them both.

"Jess..."

"Shhhhhh!" Jessica waved her hand dismissively behind her. "Bea, I'm trying to watch." How her best friend wasn't as invested in the two children as she was, she'd never know. When she looked out the door again, her view was blocked by red fabric. Her eyes lifted upward to meet Chris' face, which looked down at her with a quirked eyebrow.

"Don't go sticking your nose where it doesn't belong," Chris warned, flicking Jessica on the forehead. "I'll not have you playing matchmaker with those two. You've wreaked plenty of havoc like that."

To prove their surrogate mother's point, Bea began to list as she held up her fingers, one by one. "Tamara and the guy who was way too into cats, Rene and the unfortunately mustachioed woman, me and the one I'm pretty sure is a serial killer..."

Jessica made an nonverbal noise of disapproval at the recounting of her failures. " _Okay_ , okay! Geez."

"Please tell me Jess isn't trying to get Bea and Jack the Ripper back together," Roy smirked as he entered the house. Riza shook the umbrella off and left it on the porch before shutting the door behind them.

" _One time!_ "

Roy exchanged a glance with Riza, and she grinned despite herself. Internally, she was trying to figure out whether this was overexaggeration or reality. It was always hard to tell with this group. Roy's eyes answered the question she hadn't asked. Her laugh was both nervous and jovial, enjoying the absurdity while thankful that nothing happened to Bea.

"Alright. That's enough of that." Jessica weaved her way over to Roy and Riza. She pulled them both into a hug, squeezing them uncomfortably to her. "I can't believe it's been almost a year since I've seen you two! You've both gotten so tall!"

"You know the drill, you two. Up on the doorframe," Bea ordered, pen in hand. One after the other, she placed her hand on their heads and drew a line against the white paint. Instinctively, she marked both lines with a "r" before expanding them into their full names. "Wow, Roy! That's gotta be three inches. Same for Riza. Geez. Slow down, would you?"

Roy hadn't noticed that he had grown that much. Due to their slight age difference, he was growing at the same rate as Riza. Their height difference was still pretty consistent. They had both been growing like weeds, which explained why Riza always seemed to be mending or altering their clothing. That must have taken more work on her part than he realized.

"You know, Ree, I think we might have some hand-me-downs that would fit you," Jessica supposed.

"She's about Tamara's size, isn't she?" Bea asked her sister.

"We can even get some of it altered, no problem." Jessica nodded. "We'll probably have to take you both shopping."

"Oh, hell no!" Roy exclaimed, stepping backward. "Over my dead body!"

Bea smirked. "Whatever you need to tell yourself."

* * *

"It's for your own good, Roy. You need clothes that fit you. Now quit complaining and go try these on!" Bea shoved several pairs of pants into his arms and sent him away with a wave of her hand. "And don't you come out without showing me how they fit!" Roy visibly cringed with embarrassment before disappearing into the fitting room.

Riza shifted from one foot to the other, taking in the store as a whole. She could tell that Jessica and Bea were watching her, which only made her anxious. Sensing that she was supposed to do something, she walked over to one of the racks and took a hanger off the bar. When she held up the dress, she wrinkled her face. Why would anyone wear something like this?

"No, sweetheart. That'll drown you." Bea gently took the hanger from her hands and put it back. "What size are you?"

"Um... I don't know. I usually alter all of my clothes to fit. So I know my measurements, if that's what you need?"

"I can work with that," Jessica confirmed. "None of this will fit you quite that well; it's pretty standardized. But that'll give us some guidelines."

"Good. You go with Jess. I think Roy's looking for me," Bea said, turning around so that she could see her younger brother. "Don't slouch!"

Jessica had already begun to sort through the racks, pulling and replacing items as she went. "Don't worry about the prices. Aunt Chris will cover it."

Riza's stomach sank. "I'd really rather she not..."

"It's not like it'll put you in her debt or anything. She can call it a business expense." Several articles of clothing found their way into Riza's arms. "Besides, you're turning thirteen soon, right? Consider it a part of your birthday gift."

Still not convinced, Riza nodded. It wouldn't do any good for her to argue. "Should I go try these on?"

"Yeah, the room's right there." Jessica gestured without looking up.

"Do I need to show you?"

Jessica chuckled. "No, I trust you. You're not going to buy things that don't fit just to get it over with."

* * *

It was easy for Riza and Jessica to fall into a rhythm. Garments were passed over the door from one direction to the other, with Riza handing slightly fewer back than came her way. As their pattern slowed, Riza decided to show a few of the outfits she had chosen to Jessica, searching for her approval. The validation she received for her selections made her glow. Her insecurities about money being spent on her was drastically reduced. Jessica didn't let her put any of the items she had chosen back on the rack, insisting that she needed all of the clothing. She had gone as far as to create fictional scenarios where she would need that dress, or these pants, or that blouse, and Riza had to relent.

When they were through, they walked to the other side of the store and found Bea. She hadn't moved very far and was trying to get the same sort of pattern going with Roy, who only groaned when more items were passed over the door. Jessica passed Riza's purchases off to Bea. "We'll meet you outside, okay?"

"I might be here a while..." Bea cautioned as she held several shirts over the door. When Roy didn't take them, she shook them to gain his attention.

"That's alright. We have a little more shopping to do."

Riza let herself be led out onto the street, keeping her confusion to herself. Her trust in her companion led her to believe that she knew what she was doing. She was ushered into a small boutique a few doors down, and she had to admit that she was caught off guard. "Undergarments?"

"You're growing up more than you think. Come on, I'll help you. If you're okay with that?"

Riza nodded, feeling overwhelmed. "Yes, please."

* * *

"Ah, there they are." Bea stood up from her seat on a bench. Several bags sat at her feet and beside Roy, who looked like he had faced the first circle of hell.

Jessica waved to them as they approached, but Riza kept her eyes fixed on the ground. Her short hair couldn't cover the redness of her ears. She clutched her bag tightly to her chest. As soon as she had the chance, she stuffed it inside of another bag, which she picked up to carry. Roy followed her lead, taking up his fair share. The group of four began to walk down the street, with Roy and Riza leading the way.

Roy looked over at Riza, concerned. "You okay?" he asked.

"Yeah." She didn't even look at him.

"What happened?"

"Idon'twannatalkaboutit."

Roy looked over his shoulder at his sisters, searching for a clue. Bea and Jessica only smiled at him. That was more suspicious than anything else they could have done. When he looked back at Riza, however, he decided to drop the subject. As curious as he was, he had a feeling he would be smacked upside the head for asking by one of his sisters. Eh, he'd just ask Aunt Chris later on.


	21. Drinks and Dinner

Riza used the towel in her hand to wipe the glass handed to her by Bea, pleased to be doing her fair share of work. Jessica was wiping down tables, and even Aunt Chris was helping by restocking the bar. There was an hour until the place opened, and they didn't have much time. Tamara, who Riza had only just met, was sitting on top of the bar. Her dress clung tightly to her curves; raven hair fell down her back, pooling on the wood beside her hips. She held several strands between her fingers, examining the ends.

"Apparently, Colonel Raven is engaged. Well, about to be. He even showed me the ring, God knows why. I mean, who looks for the approval of a mistress on the engagement ring for their girlfriend?" Tamara's comment was met with laughs and sounds of agreement from her sisters. "That's all he wanted to talk about! Last night was completely worthless."

"At least you got paid," Jessica consoled.

"We can't sell money," Chris reminded her. "We sell information. All he did was help pay this month's rent."

"Well, Major General Gardner is on my schedule every day for the next week." Bea shrugged her shoulders. "He's always good for leaks. Last time, he told me that everything was stabilizing in Ishval."

"That's not true," Riza spoke up. She shifted when she felt everyone's eyes on her. "At least, that's not what I've heard."

"What have you heard? And from whom?" Chris asked, her tone conveying a layer of seriousness.

"When Roy and I came to visit last Christmas, we were booked in the same car as Fuhrer and Mrs. Bradley. The Fuhrer was saying that he just visited and that there was tension there. He told us not to worry about it, but I didn't believe him." Riza explained. "People in the east are afraid. Roy and I visited Risembool not too long ago, and there were whispers. It makes me nervous."

Chris' large hand landed on Riza's head, ruffling her short hair. "Maybe you can teach my nephew to shut up and listen for once."

She was joking, but Riza knew that wasn't all. Underneath her words lay the message _Keep listening._

Jessica grinned. "We should start sending little Ree here out on recon."

"She already does by keeping us updated on our little brother!" Bea chimed in.

Riza let out a small, nervous laugh. She couldn't help but wonder if the women listened to her as closely as they did their clients. Lord knows what might have slipped out unintentionally if they were.

Tamara pursed her lips. "In a few years, she'll be drop-dead gorgeous. We're going to lose our jobs."

"That's enough." Chris shot a look at her girls, who hadn't noticed that Riza had gone red. "The point is, Bea, work on getting the specifics from Gardner. It's possible that misinformation is being spread to the public. He can drink free all night if you need him to."

"Yes, Mama." Bea spun on her stool and took stock of the empty establishment. "I call that table," she declared, indicating an intimate booth tucked away in one of the corners. "Might say more if he thinks no-one'll hear."

"It's yours." Chris pulled the cork from a bottle of tart, red wine. "You know the rules, girls. Stay sober, stay sharp, stay in character."

"Ma'am."

"Go freshen up. It's almost showtime."

* * *

Roy had been fighting his hair for the last half-hour. No matter what he did, it never stayed out of his face. Even Jessica's 'Extra-Strength Hold' product wasn't enough to tame it; he made a mental note to buy her a new jar before she noticed that it had gone missing. He wiped his hands off on a towel, huffing in defeat. What's done was done, he decided. In a last-ditch effort, he tried combing his hair back one last time.

His face scrunched when he heard audible crunching, and he hesitantly lifted a hand to the top of his head. "Son of a bitch…" Roy looked at his reflection frustratedly, narrowing his eyes. Well, the product worked, at least. He'd probably be in his grave before it decided to release his locks.

"You ready?" Riza's voice called down the hallway.

"Innaminute!" Roy hollered. He glared at himself in the mirror. "You look like a fucking idiot, Mustang." He was wearing one of the new shirts his sisters bought for him, which was uncomfortably stiff. His pants were a little long, because, despite telling them that they didn't fit, they had insisted that he would grow into them. Maybe he would, but a few days wasn't long enough for that. Roy silently cursed each one of his sisters individually as he walked down the stairs and into the kitchen.

He thanked whatever merciful gods which might be out there that Riza didn't notice, or at least didn't say anything about, his hair. Unfortunately, when it came to her grandfather, he wasn't so lucky.

"Did you make yourself a helmet, there, my boy?" Grumman cackled as he patted Roy's stiff hairdo. "I've seen old women with less product than that, and they use it to keep their hair from falling out!"

"I don't think that's how it works, grandfather…" Riza chided as Roy ducked away from his hand.

"Alright, alright." Grumman held up his hands, palms-out. "Guess my comedy's getting worse with age."

"Can we just go to dinner now?" Roy huffed, his fingers trying to break apart black strands.

"Of course." Grumman picked up his coat and hat from the rack. He glanced at the brimmed, banded cap before plopping it down onto Roy's head. "Get ready for the best Xingese food that you'll ever eat. They're going to have to roll us out the door!"


	22. Study Break

Life was easy in Central. The hustle-and-bustle of the streets had become less overwhelming, and Riza began to know her way around town. She found that she was now confident enough to roam the streets without Roy’s company, and she embraced this sense of independence. On nights when Aunt Chris and the girls were busy working, and Roy had thrown himself back at his studies, she was more than capable of making a trip to the corner store or a nearby restaurant to pick up some food for them. 

She could tell that Roy was starting to get antsy about their extended stay. He was a hard worker, but she’d only known him to do his tasks from time to time, a bit here and there. Lately, he’d become engrossed in his textbooks. Not that she could blame him. It wouldn’t be in his best interest if they returned to Giribaz and he had forgotten most of what he had learned.

It was a shame. Coming to Central was a break from the monotony, from the constant waiting for something to go wrong. She didn’t feel like she needed to tiptoe down the stairs for a glass of water, and she certainly didn’t feel like she was being watched. Roy, however, had let his hyperalert paranoia get the better of him after about a week. He didn’t have to tell Riza what was going on. For the two of them, Berthold’s outbursts and unorthodox methods of punishment were so standardized that they could easily predict his reactions. It seemed that Roy had come to the conclusion that, upon their return, his wellbeing, and possibly her own, hinged on his alchemic progress.

Riza lifted her right thumb to her mouth, nipping at her cuticle. She tasted blood and quickly withdrew her finger, tucking her thumb into the palm of her hand. She covered it with her other fingers, hiding it from herself. Such a bad habit, she scolded herself. 

Her feet carried her down the sidewalk as the streetlights flickered on around her. It was then that she noticed the fuchsia hue of the sky. She needed to hurry if she wanted to be home before dark. She quickened her pace as she neared the corner store. The bell jingled overhead as she slipped through the glass door. Unlike back home, she never seemed to be the only person at the store. Tonight, she counted four other patrons. The small market felt cramped. Riza steeled herself and wove her way through the aisles, making a beeline for the prepared meals in one of the few refrigeration units.

The overlap between what was healthy and what Roy would eat was incredibly slim. Whatever she got him, it had to be appetizing enough that he would take a break from his studies. Otherwise, he’d nibble at his meal for about ten minutes as he read before forgetting it altogether. It didn’t help that, when she asked what he wanted, all she got was a noncommittal grunt. 

She exhaled sharply through her nose. If he didn’t want to cooperate, she was at least going to try to give him something remotely nutritious. 

The sandwiches wrapped in plastic gave way too easily to her fingers, and she set it back on the shelf with a grimace. The lettuce in the salads was wilted. The containers of soup were unappetizing at best. Even she couldn’t bring herself to buy the food. She stuck her hands in her pockets and wandered back onto the street.

A delicious scent caught her attention, and her stomach growled in response. She followed her nose down the next block, arriving at a wooden cart tucked in between the sidewalk and the opening of an alley. An old woman tended the stand, busily stirring a pot as she hummed to herself. Riza realized that the woman didn’t see or hear her, and she sheepishly coughed into her hand.

The old woman merely smiled at her before gesturing to the cart in front of her.

“What is it?” Riza asked, standing on her toes to get a better look.

She was answered in a language she had never heard before.

The pot seemed to contain a thin broth with herbs, intermixed with slices of what appeared to be beef. It seemed harmless enough. Riza lifted her hand, showing the woman her index and middle fingers. “Two, please,” she said in Amestrian, although she didn’t know why.

The woman ducked down behind the cart, mumbling to herself as she rummaged around in the compartment. When she reappeared holding two containers of thick rice noodles. These were set down on top of the cart, and two more containers were produced. With a deft hand, surprising for her age, she measured out the broth evenly. Riza watched in wonder as the woman’s aged fingers tied the containers inside of an ornate cloth in such a way that it had a handle. 

Riza pulled several cens out of her pocket, unsure of the price. Wordlessly, the woman took only what she needed and slid some change across the cart, gesturing with the back of her hand. Riza took the coins before bowing her head, attempting to thank her.

Cautiously, Riza took the cloth handle, lifting the package slowly at first to test its reliability. To her surprise, the contents were safely secured. With a smile on her face, she waved at the old woman before returning the way she came.

By the time she slipped through the back door of the bar, the moon had risen above the buildings. She rummaged around in the kitchen for silverware, grabbing two complete sets. Her feet took her upstairs two steps at a time, and she knocked on Roy’s open door.

Her companion sat on the floor, surrounded by a semi-circle of open books and sheets of paper. He drummed his pen against his cheek, lost in thought. The smell caught his attention before she knocked, and he turned attentively in her direction.

Riza couldn’t help but laugh. His cheek was speckled with black ink. The end of his pen was gnawed and broken from his stress habit. With delight, she informed him, “You’ve got some…” as she tapped her own cheek.

Roy wiped at the side of his face, smearing the liquid down to his jaw. His fingers came away stained. “Oh, son of a -.” Careful not to touch anything with his left hand, he stood up and lunged over his paper-filled moat. Riza set the package down on the desk he never used and followed him to the bathroom. His head was bent over the sink, and he was scrubbing his face with hand soap. She handed him a washcloth when he turned off the faucet.

“Come on. You’re taking a break,” she insisted, ushering him back down the hallway. Roy complied and took a seat back on the floor, this time away from his work. Riza sat down across from him and untied the package, setting the containers between them.

“What is this?” Roy asked as he opened a container of broth.

“I don’t know.”

“You don’t know? How do we eat it?”

“No idea,” Riza admitted as she passed him his silverware. “We’ve gotta figure that one out.”

Roy was silent for a moment before asking “Where the hell did you even go?”

“Shut up and eat.”


	23. Dreams

Riza grimaced as Jessica tugged her hair too roughly with the comb, for the fifth time. She didn’t know why Jess loved her hair so much; it had begun to grow back out, and it was in her face all the time. For the sake of Roy’s sisters, she had kept herself from cutting her hair where they could see. As lovely as they all were, they were privileged enough to live a certain level of extravagance that made Riza uncomfortable. She bit back a sound as the teeth of the comb raked across her scalp, caught in a tangle.

“Do you let rats live in here?” Jess demanded, putting a little more force behind the stroke.

“This is what it does when I sleep,” she explained, perhaps for the second time that day. It was hard to keep track.

“Do you sleepwalk? I mean, really, you’d think you were swimming laps around your bed with this mess.”  
  
Riza shrugged and tilted her head to the left, obediently following Jess’s unspoken instructions. “It’s probably from tossing and turning.”

“What’s got you doing all that, for?"

“Nightmares, mostly,” Riza admitted, swinging her feet off the edge of Jessica’s bed. “The last few nights I’ve kicked the covers off the bed without meaning to.”

“Sweetie, you’re way too little for all that,” Jess sighed, taking care to move the comb less forcefully through her hair. Riza said nothing. Taking a risk, she offered, “How often do you have them?”

Riza stopped swinging her feet. “Almost every night. Not always the same one.” Her voice was tired well beyond her years. “There are a couple that keep coming back, but a few only show up once or twice.”

“You know,” Jess straightened with a little pride, “I took a little class in dreams and palm reading. Mama said it was a waste of time and money. But it entertains the guests, and I’m almost never wrong with what they really mean. Wanna try?”

Riza shifted her body until she was facing the woman, legs crossed beneath her. “Sure.” She wasn’t a spiritual person, but Jess had a sort of whimsy that was completely contagious. It wasn’t even a need to humor her; to Riza, it was a genuine bonding exercise for the two of them.

Jess thumbed through a large, purple-backed book which she rested in her lap. When she found her page, she took a moment to skim the words before instructing, “I need you to tell me about the dream in detail, making note of large symbols and recurring themes… No, wait, that’s for me. All you have to do is tell me about it, okay?”

“Okay. But you can’t laugh at me.”

“Swear.” Jess caught Riza’s pinky finger with her own.

After a moment’s hesitation, she began. “The one I had last night has been coming up every now and again. I’m in it, but it’s almost like I’m not. Like, I’m in my body, but I’m not me. I’m someone else. And I’m watching her from inside her.

I’m always in this house that doesn’t look like mine, but I know that I live there. I know the floor plan, what goes where, and where my room is. It’s bigger than my house, though.

There’re these stairs, and I know that they’re the stairs down to Father’s lab. But the staircase ends in a straight ladder, which drops down into a cold, torchlit cave. It makes me feel claustrophobic, but the walls aren’t tight. I can see in either direction down the cave and down various twists and turns. 

Then I hear a scream. The funny thing is, it’s never the same voice. It’s always different. One by one the torches are blown out, like there’s something coming for me. I turn my back to the wind and hide the torch in my hands against my chest. It burns me, but it stays lit.

I start running back the way I came, which is the direction the wind blew in from. I have just enough light to see where I’m going. I run, and I run, and finally the ladder comes into view. I reach out to grab the bottom rung and drop the torch… then I wake up.”

Jess had her face buried in her book, her lips drawn into a thin line. That sounded terrifying, but Riza spoke about it like it was commonplace. Her voice didn’t break once. She let her finger roam the glossy page, thinking of something to say to the girl.

“Can you tell me about that one you had the last time you were here? Remember, when we found Roy sleeping on the floor against a chair?”

Riza cracked a small smile. “He was snoring.”

“That’s the one,” Jess nodded.

“I don’t really like to talk about that one…” Riza shifted her gaze to her palms, which rested in her lap. “That one’s about my mom.”

“You don’t have to say anything if you don’t want to, sweetie.”

“No…” She took a deep breath before repeating herself firmly, “No. Maybe you can help me figure it out. If I understand it, maybe it won’t be so scary.

It takes place in the same house as the last one. The one that’s mine without really being mine. All these little things are off about it, just enough that it’s noticeable. I’m the same age I am now, but my mom’s there. She’s sitting on the couch with a book in her lap, humming to herself. It’s always the same song, but I can’t remember how it goes when I wake up.

I sit beside her on the couch and put my head in her lap, and she keeps reading and humming while she strokes my hair. Everything’s so still. I can hear my own heartbeat as I close my eyes.

Then, I’m standing outside on a pile of hot ashes. Behind me, the house is on fire. I don’t turn around. For an instant, I feel like I’m the only person in the world. I can hear people shouting at me, telling me to move, but it’s like they’re far away. My father’s hand grabs my wrist and drags me behind him. I’m tripping and stumbling over the debris as he commands me to move faster.

I fall, and he doesn’t notice. He keeps running, shouting at me without noticing that I’m gone. The wrist he grabbed is black with soot. I stand up and turn around, and there’s nothing behind me anymore. I look ahead and it’s the same nothingness. I can still hear the roaring fire, but I can’t see it. I can’t see anything. I feel like I’m on fire and freezing at the same time. My mom’s voice says something to me that I can’t understand, and I wake up.”

Jessica tossed her book aside and pulled Riza to her, holding her head against her chest. She rested her chin on the top of Riza’s head and blinked to keep herself from crying. She wouldn’t let her know that her heart was breaking.

* * *

 

“And she said all that to you?” Chris didn’t try to hide her surprise.

“Every word.” Jess confirmed.

“So why did you come to me? Didn’t that fifty-cens-an-hour scam artist teach you how to trace lines on palms for this sort of thing?”

“Little girls aren’t supposed to have dreams like that, and you know it, Mama.”

“That little girl you’re talking about has a very old soul. Don’t tell me you haven’t noticed it. It’s not that child’s first time around the block, so to speak.”

“What, like, reincarnation?”

“Girl, I’m not getting into religious semantics with you right now. What I’m saying is that girl’s seen more than anyone could imagine, and that’s probably not going to change.”

“But, remember? We were talking about if she came here?”

Chris shook her head, unable to conceal the regret in her eyes. “She’s got enough in her past to last most people a lifetime. That shit doesn’t just go away if you pack your bags and run. Lord knows that everyone in this house has tried it at least once.”

“So what do we do?”

“There’s nothing we _can_ do for those sorts of nightmares. This isn’t like when we threw Roy into the pool to stop his dreams about drowning. There’s no quick fix; I don’t know if there’s a fix at all. She’s already got trauma so deep that the keys are hidden, too. And I’m not very well going to throw the child into a house fire.”

“Do you…” Jess dropped her voice. “Do you think that’s what happened to her mom?”

Chris shook her head. “No, Grumman would have known if it was something that extreme. You can’t pass off fire as an illness. What she’s got against it, I don’t know, but it isn’t that.”

“Pass that to me,” Jess requested, indicating the bottle of rum on the high shelf.

Chris pulled the bottle and provided her with a glass. “Plan on having fun tonight?”

Jess looked her dead in the eye and stated “I sure as hell don’t plan on having those nightmares.”


	24. Delinquency

They wouldn’t be able to stay much longer. Roy could sense it, looming in the distance. They’d already been in Central too long. Master Hawkeye hadn’t sent for them; that wasn’t something he would do. He would, however, show his anger when the two returned for not having sensed that they should have taken a train about a week ago. Riza had to have known this, but Roy could tell that she was in denial. She was so much happier here, in Central.

He'd hoped that a trip to the market would be enough to push these thoughts out of his mind. Yet, here he was, trudging along with a bag in his arms and all of this weighing on his shoulders. They weren’t talking about it, but in that strange way she had, Riza knew exactly what was wrong. Their efforts at distraction were half-hearted at best.

Roy swore loudly as he stumbled foot-first into a puddle, splashing mud into his shoe and up his ankle. Central never seemed to prioritize the footpaths on this side of town. It was all about the roads and the buildings near Central Command. The show had to be kept up, after all. He shook his foot in disdain, noticing that Riza hadn’t laughed at his misfortune. Her lack of reaction troubled him more than any of his other thoughts.

“Come on,” Riza spoke up as she took the paper bag from Roy. “Let’s get you cleaned up.”

Better able to watch his steps, Roy sulked after her. He knew they were heading to the small plaza at the end of the market. The city kept a fountain there, and, although the signs posted forbade it, it was a popular spot for children looking to splash in the water. Perhaps it was the clouds, but the plaza was almost empty. Roy was thankful for that as he sat down on the edge of the fountain. At least he wouldn’t get knocked in.

He removed his shoe and his sock, grimacing at the prominent stripe of mud on his leg. Riza’s eyes darted left, then right, as Roy stuck his foot in the fountain and began to swipe at the dirt. A brown cloud appeared in the otherwise serene water fixture. People passed them by, most of them avoiding eye contact.

Riza had a knack for resourcefulness, whereas Roy had honed his skills in urban survival. By bathing himself in the fountain like this, he supposed that they had to look homeless. Central wasn’t known for its orphanages, and the large city inadvertently welcomed those far from upper-class to the outskirts.

Roy wrung the water out of his sock, letting it splash on the stone at his feet.

In the middle of Riza’s palm sat a small, brown coin, which she eyed with uncertainty. A small “hmph” declared that she’d made her decision, and she balled her fist before sending the coin into the fountain. It landed with a soft _plunk_ and sank steadily to the bottom.

Roy looked at her in surprise. “You don’t believe in wishes,” he stated. “Why’d you do that?”

“Dunno,” Riza shrugged and stuck her hands in her pockets. “Just hoping, I guess.”

“Well, what’d’ya wish for?”

“I can’t tell you that. That’s the first rule of a wishing well.”

“That’s a load of crap.”

“You’ve already stepped in a puddle today. I’m not going to let your bad luck ruin my wish.”

All this talk of wishes and luck confused Roy. Were his sisters having a bad influence on her? She’d never believed in any of this stuff before. Maybe that’s what happened when someone grew up in an alchemist’s house. They learn science and facts and then leave it behind, like some kids did with religion. Selfishly, he hoped that wasn’t the case with Riza. He’d get lonely if she turned into some idealistic zealot.

Rapid footfalls echoed between the buildings, drawing Riza and Roy’s attention to the left, in the direction of the main street. A tall, lanky kid sped past the alleyway, and was pursued not long after by two men, one of whom was wearing a shopkeeper’s apron. Roy hastily tugged on his shoe, abandoning his sock. He had to know what this was about. If that kid was going to get caught, he wanted to be there to see it. It’d probably be the most entertainment they would have all day.

Riza hurried after him, keeping up with his various turns and shortcuts. She skidded to a halt as they appeared onto the main street, a block ahead of the running boy. He clearly wasn’t from around here; if he’d taken the same route they had, he could have been long gone by now. She gasped as he crossed a sidestreet, narrowly avoiding being hit by a car. The horn blared after him.

As he came closer into view, she could tell that the blonde kid was enjoying this all far too much. Riza narrowed her eyes as he approached, scrutinizing his face. She stepped back in surprise as he passed them on the sidewalk.

“Jean?!” Riza asked, shocked.

Upon hearing his name, Jean made the fatal mistake of looking back over his shoulder. He tripped over his own feet and tumbled down onto the sidewalk, skinning his knee for good measure. He swore colorfully as he picked himself back up, but he was too late. The two men had caught up with him.

The shopkeeper bent over and placed his hands on his knees, panting from the effort. The other man grabbed Jean by the collar of his shirt and shook him before boxing his ears for good measure.

“You stupid boy! You steal from this man, in front of my face. Cigarettes, none the less! If we weren’t in the street-” the threat switched into the man’s native language. Roy couldn’t understand what was being said, but Riza and Jean’s faces told him that he was better off not knowing.

Pierre manhandled his son into turning around to face the shopkeeper. He pressed a large hand into the back of Jean’s head, forcing him down into a bow. A few words were hissed in Cretan, and Jean relented.

“Sorry,” He mumbled, his eyes fixed on his feet.

A command barked in Cretan had him searching his pockets. Still bent over in a bow, he extended his arm, returning the unopened pack of cigarettes to the shopkeeper. Having caught his breath, the man snatched the pack out of his hand. “Don’t come back,” he growled at Pierre, shaking the pack of cigarettes for emphasis before stalking off.

Jean’s eyes watered as his father grabbed a good handful of his shaggy, blonde hair to pull him upright. “Ow ow ow ow ow ow ow ow ow ow-”

Ignoring his son’s repeated protests, Pierre repeated “You stupid boy. Maybe I need to say it in Amestrian so you understand me, hm? You may be my son, but I am _this_ close to making you join the military. Straighten you out some. Maybe then you will learn to say ‘yes, sir’ and listen to your father.”

“I’m sorry!” Jean tried to placate his father into letting go of his hair.

“No, not yet, you thief. You think I won’t tell your mother about this, hm? What do you think she will say? To learn you’re a scoundrel. Do you want to break her heart?”

Jean tried to shake his head but found it more painful than it was worth in his current situation. “No, sir.”

Pierre released his grip as a reward for the formality. “Stupid boy.” He saw Jean’s face burning bright red in embarrassment. His son was usually much bolder than this, to be ashamed of a public scolding. He took an instant to follow his son’s gaze and saw Roy and Riza staring at them from just inside the alleyway. It was like a switch had been flipped. “ _Ma Cherie!”_ He exclaimed, extending his arms out to Riza. After catching her in an embrace, he spared a glance back at his son. “You run and I box more than your ears.”

“I am sorry you had to see this. My son acting like a fool.”

Riza shuffled her feet, unsure of what to say.

“You see what you do?” Pierre barked at Jean.

“I said I was sorry,” Jean mumbled before looking defiantly away.

“What are you doing here in the big city? I had thought I would see you in Giribaz.”

“We’re here visiting Roy’s family,” Riza explained, gesturing towards her companion.

“Yes, the alchemist.” Pierre caught Roy’s hand in a firm shake. “Good to see you are still here. You’re more resilient than the others.” The man beamed. “Come, both of you. We were going to eat lunch before my son decided to be so rude. Join us. You can eat his share.”

Jean’s jaw dropped in disbelief. “Dad!”

“I was just kidding. I won’t let you starve. That’s your mother’s decision to make, not mine.”


End file.
